Figures in the Dark
by TheCorrosivePen
Summary: Clarke's an Ice Princess, Bellamy's a janitor, the US Figure Skating National Championships are looming and everyone's working through something.
1. Well Met

"It's only temporary," Bellamy murmured, eying the mop in front of him.

Across from him, Miller, his new boss, let out a snort. "Keep telling yourself that."

Bellamy's fist clenched, the urge to punch Miller in the face shooting through him. But he needed this damn job, no matter how much he wanted to run out of the frigid building, no matter how much he needed a break from reality, if only for a moment. He ground his teeth and walked around Miller. Octavia was at home, depending on him, relying on him to keep his fists to himself and his sanity in check.

"Start with the hockey locker rooms," Miller called after him. "They stink the worst, but the stuck up princesses in the figure skating room are worse. Trust me."

Bellamy tossed a nod over his shoulder and navigated the mop and bucket toward the door labeled Locker Room 2: Arkadia Hockey Teams A and B. He had plenty of experience with this room, having spent hours during his formative years lacing up his skates here. He shoved the door open, the decisive clang giving him some satisfaction. There was no point in thinking about the past. His life had been dumped upside down and he couldn't even panic. He had to keep it together, for Octavia, for his mom.

His eyes stung and he shook his head, grabbing the mop and grinding it into the rubber floor. Bellamy was done crying. He'd had two nights and that was all he was going to get. They needed to eat and Bellamy couldn't afford a breakdown on the first day of this stupid job.

The sounds of hockey pucks bombarding the boards echoed into the dank room, reminding him of the feel of a stick his hand and the slice of his blades across the ice. He'd thought maybe he'd play in high school, but the reality of his station in life had quickly been imposed upon him. His mom couldn't afford to pay for the travel team and while rec league was great, it wasn't going to get him onto even the middle school team. He scrubbed harder at the floor, trying to erase the memories.

Two hours later and the entire waiting area was scrubbed to perfection. The hockey teams had exited both rinks and now the nauseating strains of endless classical music were echoing through the building. Why couldn't figure skaters at least skate to interesting music? If he had to hear Swan fucking Lake one more time, he might actually walk out.

He glanced over at Miller sitting at the front desk taking payments from mothers in absurd fur coats that made them look like fashion disasters. Not that he knew much about it. Octavia had never complained about the paltry clothes they got from Goodwill. In any case, the tailoring business their mom ran gave her plenty of chances to add her own personal touches.

Bellamy sighed, eyeing the last room on his list, the figure skating locker room. There were glass windows into the room lined with picture perfect maroon lockers that had bright pink and lime green locks dangling from them. The back of the room housed several stalls with dizzyingly sparkly dresses hanging from monogramed hangers. He rolled his eyes. Bellamy was not about to be intimidated by some stupid girls and their excessive amounts of rhinestones.

In any case, only one girl occupied the room, brilliant blue earbuds stuck securely under a wild blonde ponytail. Better now than later when the hoards got off the current freestyle session. He started moping as far away from her as possible, hoping she'd disappear before he reached her bench. Her skates were already off, covered with the ridiculously fluffy purple soakers that were all the rage, or so he gathered from the plethora of them occupying the locker room.

He finished the first row of lockers and peered around the corner. She was still there. Her wild hair pulled out of the hair tie as she moved through a series of steps to an inaudible beat. Lovely. She had her eyes closed and her face was set in deep concentration.

Bellamy sloshed the mop in the bucket loudly, hoping to disturb her. No such luck. Well, he wasn't going to wait around all day for this ice princess. He pushed the mop down the aisle, water spraying as he moved past her.

Her eyes shot open as the spray connected with her tights-clad ankles. Their blue was intense, boring into him, holding him captive until she opened her mouth.

"What the hell are you doing? Can't you see I'm doing a run through?" Her eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Just doing my job, Princess," he growled, turning away from her. He didn't have the energy for this bullshit.

Her hand clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him to face her again. Her face was determined, her brow creasing as she stared him down. "No. Who are you? I know everyone here and I've never seen you before."

"What?" he groused. "You own the place or something?"

Her eyes burned brighter. "As a matter of fact, yes. My parents do own this place."

His disdainful retort died in his throat. God fucking damn it. Of course, he had to go pick a fight with the one and only Clarke Griffin, Ice Princess extraordinaire. He didn't remember much of her, just images of blonde hair bouncing as she hopped on the ice after the rec games he'd attended in elementary school. He knew about her, knew about the partnership between the Griffins and the Jahas. Bellamy fucking worked for them. He'd known he was going to run into the golden boy, Wells Jaha, but he'd forgotten about Clarke entirely. He and Wells were cool anyway. When he'd dropped out of the rec leagues in middle school, Wells had bothered to comment that the older boys missed him when they ran into each other at Stop and Shop, a kindness Bellamy would not forget.

But Clarke, he'd forgotten she even existed. He stared down at her. She was taller now, clearly a budding woman. Dates swirled through his brain. She ought to be about 18 now, probably a senior at Arkadia High. He swallowed, suddenly unsure what to say. He was still pissed as hell at her holier than thou attitude, but he couldn't exactly insult his boss' daughter.

Bellamy opted for giving her his most disinterested stare. "Sorry, Princess. Bellamy Blake, janitor, at your service."

She crossed her arms, huffing and sending his gaze in the absolute wrong direction. He cleared his throat and motioned vaguely at the rest of the aisle. "Care to let me do my job?"

It was her turn to look put out. Her cheeks flushed a dark red as she hurriedly gathered her skates, tossing them in a blue duffle that he definitely did not notice matched her eyes. She jammed her feet into pink sneakers with rhinestones down the sides. Glancing back up at him with a flustered glare, she snapped, "Stay out of my way."

"No fucking problem, Princess," he hollered after her, his irritation rising above his common sense. She didn't respond, merely slammed the door behind her, leaving Bellamy scowling at the empty room.

Great. Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. His first day and he already was making all the wrong decisions. He sank back against the locker bank, his head connecting with a dull thud. What the hell was he doing?

Octavia was on the couch when he walked into their one bedroom shit of an apartment. Their mom had left them the house, but he'd sold it within a week. He hated that it had come to that, but he didn't have enough income to feed them for the next few months, no matter how many hours he worked, or how many classes he dropped. So he'd sold the house, gotten the cheapest place he could find in a decent part of town and kept his part time tuition payments on time. He knew, as much as it sucked now, that degree was the only thing standing between them and hell.

She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing as they took in his tense posture. "So I guess this wouldn't be a good time to tell you I got suspended?"

He sighed, raking a hand through his dark curls. "What the heck did you do, O?"

She shrugged, her slim shoulders reminding him that he needed that paycheck no matter the abuse he'd endure. "Emma Cantor called mom a cheap whore, so I punched her." She flexed her fingers, bringing his attention to the dried blood and bruises swelling across her knuckles. "Broke the bitch's nose."

He didn't know whether to be pissed or proud. Octavia getting suspended was definitely not on the list of positives, but he couldn't blame her. He'd have done worse. Not that he would punch 16 year old Emma I'm going to be Prom Queen Cantor, but he'd had enough interactions with her to understand Octavia's rage. He settled on grunting as he opened the fridge and popped open a PBR. "How long?"

"Only two days." She snorted as she pushed off the couch, wrapping her oversized sweater closer around her. "They thought it was extenuating circumstances. What with mom hardly being cold in the grave."

Bellamy looked sharply at her. They hadn't talked about it much since the funeral, each trying to be strong for the other he suspected. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Octavia rolled her eyes.

"You can say it, big brother. Whatever it is."

Bellamy took a large swig of his PBR. "Are you okay?"

She stared at him, her eyes gleaming and her jaw clenching. "Not particularly, but wallowing isn't going to solve anything. Anyway, it feels better to punch Emma Cantor than cry."

He couldn't exactly disagree, but he also couldn't help but think this wasn't the path he wanted for Octavia. He set his beer down on the counter and pulled her close to him, savoring the warmth of her small frame. He pressed a kiss to her temple and pulled away. "Okay, but you can talk to me, if you need."

"That street goes both ways, big brother," she murmured, retreating toward the bedroom. "I'm going to go do that English essay that was due today. Don't stay up too late."

Bellamy sighed, bringing the beer back to his lips. He had no idea what to do for her. Hell, he had no idea what to for himself either. He eyed the couch, contemplating another night of tossing and turning. He definitely needed another beer.


	2. Reconfiguring

"Ooph," Clarke muttered as she crashed into the ice yet again. Her triple loop, which had been so consistent for the last six months, had suddenly decided to die on her. No matter how hard she visualized or hit the weight room, it showed no signs of coming back.

Ivan stared at her from across the rink, a disheartening blank expression on his face. She growled, and pushed herself back up, barely keeping her frustration from boiling over as she skated over to him. Her t-stop was more violent than it needed to be, spraying ice onto his black skates.

"Clarke." He began, then paused, sighing. "Clarke, this is in your head."

No shit. Of course it was in her head. Every since she ran into Bellamy Blake and his bucket of water and insolence, her mind had been fuzzy and her triple loop had left the building. She'd been around skating enough years to know that this too would pass, but with only a month before regionals she wasn't interested in fighting this particular battle. She wanted Bellamy gone and her damn jump back.

Ivan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. She tired not to squirm. "You will work this out before the end of the week." It wasn't a request. "Short program run through, leave out the triple loop for now."

Annoyance sizzling across her skin, she nodded and stroked to her starting place. Trust Ivan to make her feel like a petulant child. Clarke took a deep breath as she settle into her opening pose. Time to forget about Ivan, her damn triple loop and whatever mind game Bellamy Blake was playing. Time to just skate.

Two and a half minutes later her breathing was ragged and her muscles straining, but Clarke finally felt normal. Yes, she'd only done a double loop, but the rest of the program had simply fallen into place, each movement feeling more natural than the last. Ever since the new choreography for the season, she'd been struggling to hit all the accents and generally failing at emoting at the proper moments. Now though, she'd hit each note perfectly, the elegant poses flowing together into an eloquent story of love and loss.

Clarke would be the first to admit that Swan Lake wasn't exactly an original piece of music. When Ivan had presented it to her, she'd rolled her eyes and made a snide comment about Russian prima ballerinas that hadn't exactly been in good taste. Ivan was used to her though, and he'd implored her to give the music a shot. He'd pointed out that Swan Lake was more than just an old stuffy ballet. It was a story of mistaken identity and betrayal. As Prince Siegfried discovers he has mistaken Odile for Odette, his world comes crashing down around him and he has no choice but to choose love over life. It was way too Romeo and Juliet for Clarke's taste, but something about playing dark emotions that lead to their desperate suicide had been appealing. So here she was, flying across the ice, channeling Odette's destructive love.

For months it had felt like she was going through the motions of Odette's suffering, never fully buying in. But now, now she could feel the burn in her heart and the desperation under her skin. Still breathing heavily, she turned to face Ivan, unsure of his reaction.

He stood silently at the boards, his eyes narrowed and his lips quirked upward. He motioned for her to come closer, speaking only when the spray of her skates graced the ice in front of him. "I'll trade your triple loop for that performance any day. Why so different?"

Clarke opened her mouth then abruptly closed it. She couldn't exactly say that the new janitor was driving her up the wall and that she'd decided to vent her emotions during the program. Instead, she shrugged, pushing loose tendrils of blonde hair out of her face. "It just felt right today."

"Let's find a way to keep it feeling right." He nodded, more to himself than Clarke before continuing. "Give me five laps and three double axels."

She nodded and pushed off, for once feeling like she had the energy. Usually the program drained her completely, despite its short length, but today she felt light, free. The double axels came as easily as waltz jumps and the jumping passes were over before she even realized they'd begun. Ivan waved in dismissal from across the rink as her last landing flowed across the ice.

"So that looks better than usual," Wells spoke from the boards next to the Kleenex box as she skated over. The unfortunate side effect of cold ice rinks and lots of spinning led to the absolute necessity of tissues. She wiped a tissue across her red nose and eyed Wells. Clarke had no idea what he was up to. She knew he'd sensed her frustration with Bellamy Blake, but he hadn't said anything yet and she really didn't want to have that conversation.

"It clicked today." She rolled her eyes, flicking the tissue into the trashcan. "It's like I finally got how damn insane Seigfried and Odette had to be to commit suicide for each other after only knowing each other 24 hours."

Wells shook his head. "Not just that. You seem less perturbed than usual." Clarke gave him a look, hoping he'd back off. No such luck. "Come on, Clarke, I know Blake's got you in a sour mood. I have no idea what happened, but every time you see him, it's like you're trying to fry him with your laser vision."

She stared down at her black gloves, picking at the loose threads. Damn Wells for being so perceptive. "We didn't exactly have the best introduction. I don't understand why Kane and Miller needed to hire him. There are plenty of other guys who can mop a floor."

Wells stared at her silently, as if trying to determine if she was serious. "There aren't many guys who lost their mother less than a month ago and are trying to raise their little sister all on their own."

"What?"

She felt like he'd slapped her as heat rose on her cheeks. Of course she had to go and be an asshole. No wonder Bellamy had looked at her like he wanted to squish her beneath his boots.

"His mom died about three weeks ago, Clarke. Don't you ever read the paper? It's not like Arkadia is that big a place. My dad and I even went to the funeral."

Clarke had no idea what to say. Wells was right, she must have been really out of it to miss the news. She didn't even know that Bellamy Blake had a sister to raise. She swallowed, a bitter taste trickling down her throat. "Oh, god. I'm such a horrible person, Wells."

Wells snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. She hardly noticed the boards digging in to her ribs as she collapsed against him, all the fight draining out of her. "You haven't been a horrible person… you've just been really focused."

"So focused that I forgot to remember other people are human?" She replied with a snort.

"Well, no. You just want Nationals so badly this year that ever since Ivan choreographed your programs, you've been a wreaking ball. It's not a bad attitude to have, Clarke…" he trailed off, clearly finding it difficult to fully justify her actions.

She sighed, pulling away to dab another tissue at her now watering eyes. "You can stop, Wells, there really isn't any excuse for me treating anyone that badly. I was just in the middle of one of my off ice run-throughs and he splashed half a bucket of water on me." Clarke groaned, burying her face in her gloved hands. "I've really fucked up this time, haven't I?"

Wells didn't say anything, which was all she needed to confirm that Clarke Griffin, idiot extraordinaire, had messed up royally. She nodded firmly to herself, "I'm going to apologize."

"Good luck with that."

She narrowed her eyes at Wells, searching his face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Blake has a long and vivid memory. He doesn't talk to any of the guys from the old team, even after a decade. I just don't think that he's the forget and forgive type."

"Fine. I don't care, I'm going to get him to listen to me," Clarke insisted.

Wells held his hands up in mock surrender. "Just don't blame me."

The clock caught Clarke's attention. Fifteen minutes left in her session. Never mind that her parents owned the rink with Wells' father, she still had to adhere to the session rules and Ivan was going to kill her next lesson if he didn't see at least another run-through in the next fifteen minutes.

Wiggling her toes in her skates, she tried to restore circulation as she stroked around the rinks, relishing the cold air rushing past her. Time to remember what it felt to be Odette again, but this time she felt empty, as if the energy that had fueled her previous program had run flat. She pushed harder, digging her blades deeper into the ice. She could do this. She had to do this.

Clarke didn't see Bellamy Blake for the next week. She wasn't sure if he was avoiding her or if she was subconsciously avoiding him. Either way, the upcoming apology was gnawing a hole in her, making her jumpy at even the sight of a mop. While Wells clearly knew what was on her mind, he'd been kind enough to let the issue lay fallow for the time being.

She knew he was stressed enough with the practices for the high school varsity team finally starting. Arkadia wasn't known for much, but their hockey team had won the state 3A division five years in the running and Coach Pike wasn't about to let the boys let a sixth title slip away. She'd heard them drilling at all hours the past weekend and wasn't surprised when Wells could barely keep his eyes open during their tutoring session the next Monday.

Clarke supposed she could be grateful that Wells' father had agreed to let him home school with Clarke. Thelonius was a stickler for tradition, but when Coach Pike had agreed to let Wells play for the team even if he home schooled, the deal had been done. It was a lot better than the previous three years where it had only been Clarke and Mrs. Kane droning on for hours about everything from the best chicken soup stock to the American Revolution. She loved Mrs. Kane, but the woman could put an agitated lion to sleep. Now, at least, she had Wells to whisper snide comments to while Mrs. Kane extolled the virtues of her new knitting needles.

She hadn't been to public school since 5th grade, when her parents had asked her if she was serious about figure skating. Then she'd still had visions of the Olympic rings dancing in her head, so they'd pulled her out of school, entered into a partnership with the Jahas at the rink and paid Ivan an obscene amount of money to uproot his New Jersey skating school and move it to the Hudson Valley. After that life had been nothing but skating with the occasional social experience with Wells, Raven, or her parents thrown in. It wasn't exactly easy to make friends when your sole occupation was freezing on top of a giant ice cube. So here she was, technically a senior in high school, with only Wells to keep her company.

Clarke stripped off her guards, placing them on the top of the boards, as she stroked onto the 3:15 session. Her blades dug deeply into the ice, ripping as she bent her knee deeply, beginning her power pull warm-up sequence. Her parents hadn't bought into an ice rink and paid Mrs. Kane for seven years to have a might have been. Time to get serious; she could worry about Bellamy Blake's disappearing act later.

Ten minutes and six triples later, Clarke spotted his mess of dark curls emerging from the Zamboni room. She nearly skated straight to him before she remembered how unwelcome she would likely be. Taking a deep breath, she felt a small portion of the pressure lift from her shoulders. At least she knew he was here today and after the session she could make good on her apology.

"Earth to Clarke…"

She blinked, realizing she'd come to a dead stop in front of the Zamboni doors. The voice behind her was familiar and definitely unwelcome.

"Finn. I thought you'd moved to Newburgh."

He shrugged, pushing back the light brown fringe falling into his eyes. "I tried, but let's be honest, Ivan's the best and I couldn't stand to be without you guys."

By you guys, he meant Clarke and Raven, the girls club hockey team captain. During their freshman year of high school, or at least Raven and Finn's freshman year since Clarke had been stuck with Mrs. Kane by then, there had been a dating fiasco of epic proportions between the three of them. Finn had made an ill-fated attempt to date both Raven and Clarke. The matter had been settled by a hockey puck to the jaw that had resulted in several surgeries and an eventual tempering of hostilities. Now Clarke was on friendly terms with both Finn and Raven, but had to endure Finn more often since they shared the ice more frequently. Not that she really disliked him. Often he was actually quite good company and in those horribly cold mornings in the depths of winter it was always nice to see a friendly face through the fog of her own breath.

"So you're coming back to Ivan?" Finn wasn't as serious as Clarke about his skating and had tested up to Senior, the highest competitive level, the year before. Clarke was still at Junior, hoping to still have a competitive shot at nationals and maybe a few smaller international competitions. More and more often she thought Finn was the lucky one, skating only for fun now.

He nodded, leaning back against the boards, arms crossing over his black Underarmor turtleneck. "I'm pretty sure Peter and Monica wanted to turn me into a pairs skater, or maybe an ice dancer. They couldn't believe that I really didn't care if I didn't make it to sectionals, let alone nationals this year. Peter kept telling me I was wasting my talents. It got old really quickly."

"Sorry," Clarke murmured. She couldn't help but agree with the Newburg coaches. Finn was too good to quit now, but if he wanted to do something other than skating, she wasn't going to stop him.

"No worries. So how's the Swan Queen doing?"

Clarke's teeth worried her lip. She wasn't actually sure how well the Swan Lake short was going. She'd had that amazing skate the day she'd been super mad at Bellamy Blake, but after that it was like the wind had fallen out of her sails. She couldn't bring herself to put enough emotion into the program and although the triple loop was back to normal, she could see the disappointment on Ivan's face every time she ran the program. Hell, she was disappointed with herself. Her ability to perform depending on her emotional state was too tenuous to work and she had no idea how to channel the emotional depth she'd experienced that day anyway.

"That bad?"

She'd forgotten Finn was still there, waiting. "Uh, it's been rough. Something about being a doomed lover that doesn't quite work for me."

A wry grin spread over his face. "You don't say." She tried not to blush. Their relationship, as brief as it had been, was the most experience she had. If awkward gropes under skate jackets counted as experience. After Finn, she'd sworn off relationships and despite a brief make out session with another Junior lady at sectionals last year that had been fueled by the emotional high of her perfect freeskate, Clarke had kept true to that declaration. A competitive figure skater really didn't have time for real relationships anyway. She couldn't even imagine Ivan's face if she told him she was in a relationship because it was absolutely never going to happen.

"Shut up, Finn." Clarke's eyes rolled skyward. "The short's a mess, but I love my long. It's set to Torn from High Strung. I didn't expect much from the movie and then I heard the piece they wrote for the ballet-violin mashup and I was in love."

"At least one program isn't driving you insane," Finn agreed. "I should let you practice before Ivan has both of us doing kill drills."

Clarke nodded and Finn disappeared into the blur of black pants and shining blades. She glanced back toward the Zamboni room, but Bellamy Blake was long gone and she had regionals to train for. Three weeks. Clarke took a deep breath and pushed Bellamy to the back of her mind. Two clean run-throughs and then maybe she could afford to check the lobby for his dark curls.


	3. Striking a Balance

"O, come on, I can't be late for work," Bellamy hollered as he pulled the door to his truck open. It wasn't much, but it got him to work and Octavia to school. At least it did when she wasn't suspended. Two weeks after the last suspension, he'd had a phone call that she was out again. Three days this time and not a word about extenuating circumstances. The assistant principal had made it abundantly clear that if Octavia didn't shape up, Arkadia High School would no longer be an option.

So here he was dragging O to the rink with him since there was no way in hell he was letting her second suspension be the vacation her first one had been. She was going to help him out, not sit on the couch mocking Keeping Up with the Kardashians and eating him out of house and home. He'd asked Kane the other day and his boss had assured him that Octavia could help him out as long as he still worked his full shift and none of the tasks were completed at a lower quality.

The call about her second suspension had come in while he was working and it had been just his luck that Princess Griffin had been on the warpath. She'd marched up to him a week ago, his head still spinning from the news about Octavia, and insisted that he give her his full attention. He'd ignored her and found his way home as soon as possible. Bellamy had no idea what type of stick was up her ass and he really had no interest in finding out. He'd taken to giving her a wide berth and had even ducked around corners when he heard her voice. It wasn't that he was scared of dealing with her; he just had absolutely no interest in dealing with the Ice Princess. He'd already figured out everything he needed to know and any more time with her was merely a waste of his time and energy.

"Jeez, keep your lid on, big brother," Octavia muttered, climbing into the passenger seat and sending him a dirty look that had stopped working a decade earlier.

Bellamy chose to ignore her and cranked up the local rock station 101.5 WHUD. He wasn't a huge fan of classic rock, but it was better than listening to his sister wax poetic about her latest fight club outing. Apparently nothing Bellamy could say made a difference in Octavia's attitude. The second fight hadn't even been about their mother. Roma Winters annoyed Octavia and pop, there went Roma's perfect nose. Witnesses all reported that the only thing Roma had done to Octavia was sit on her lunch bench in the courtyard, hardly a crime. Bellamy suspected that a lot of the behavior was due to misdirected grief, but he could understand how the school administration couldn't quite see it that way.

He had no idea what he was going to do if she did get expelled. It wasn't like there was another high school in Arkadia except for the Presbyterian School, which certainly wasn't going to accept a high school expellee. Which left him with no ideas and a headache that never quite seemed to go away.

Only after the third beer of the night did he allow himself to imagine what his mother would think of them now. Her beautiful, talented daughter now on a bee line to Juvee and her son, not being able to hold the family together. They'd talked about the future, what she wanted for Bellamy and Octavia, before the cancer had advanced too far and taken her from him. But those had been theoretical conversations, a world that Bellamy hadn't been ready to picture.

Bellamy glanced over at Octavia. She had her headphones in and was listening to some sort of metal that managed to escape her earbuds and clash with the radio station. A month ago he would have ripped the headphones off and given her hell. Now he was content that she wasn't actively violent.

The rest of the drive to the rink was peaceful enough, giving him enough time to contemplate the joys of working at la casa de Griffin and Jaha. He'd had a few run ins with Wells and although they hadn't spoken much, Wells had been considerate. Bellamy didn't want his sympathy, but he also knew that Wells had lost his mother back in elementary school, so he wasn't exactly doling out pity. Otherwise, Miller was a good enough supervisor and Kane was strict, but kind. He'd had no dealings with the Griffins or the Jahas beyond Clarke and Wells and he privately prayed it would stay that way. The not so subtle line in the sand between Bellamy's side of town and theirs was enough to make any encounter impossibly awkward.

"We're here," he announced loudly, hoping to penetrate Octavia's cacophony. She glanced up at the rink sign and fixed a look of utter disgust on him.

"I have to go in there?" Her nose wrinkled up. "It smells like hockey BO."

"Yes, O, you have to go in there. I can't miss work and I don't trust you on your own right now." He slammed his door and moved around the front to yank hers open. "So get out, bring that textbook and get comfortable."

"This is bullshit," she snapped, but exited the truck with her algebra textbook in hand.

Bellamy surveyed the rink lobby as they entered, scouting a table for Octavia to work at. Most of the tables were filled with PeeWee hockey players and their parents, preparing or leaving practice. Only one table had room for an additional occupant. Bellamy swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, before marching Octavia to stand beside the table.

"Princess, this is my sister, Octavia." Clarke Griffin stared balefully back at him, eyebrows raised in question. "She needs to do some Algebra homework while I work."

Clarke's eyes flickered between them before landing back on his face. Her eyes were a softer blue now, but he still wanted to get as far away from her and her superiority as soon as possible.

"Take a seat. I'm just working on an English essay." She motioned toward the half filled page in front of her. "Mrs. Kane wants it done before my 4:25 session."

Octavia glared daggers at Bellamy, but slid into the seat across from Clarke and halfheartedly flopped open her textbook. "You can go now, big brother."

Clarke spared a look at Octavia, her lips tugging downward, before her eyes shot back to Bellamy. Her teeth worried at her lips, bringing his attention to the shimmery gloss coating them. He snapped his eyes shut and redirected his attention to a spot just beyond her head.

"Can I talk with you?"

He refocused on her face, taking in the uncertain set of her jaw. "I have work."

"It'll just take a minute."

Bellamy glanced back at Octavia, who rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to fucking punch anyone in here…" she trailed off as several screaming kids ran past, hockey sticks raised to attack position. "Although no guarantees if they hit me with those damn things."

"O…"

"Chill, Bell, I'm kidding." Her eyes slid to Clarke, who'd been watching their exchange as if studying a particularly difficult homework problem. "Go have your chat."

Despite his entire being telling him to bail, Bellamy followed Clarke into the back offices, deserted for the time being. She didn't speak the entire trip and Bellamy wasn't about to break the brittle silence. Instead, he waited silently, arms crossed and eyes focused on the ceiling, noting the dilapidated tiles and yellow stains with sudden interest.

"Bellamy." His name on her lips compelled him to look down at her. A decision he instantly regretted as her deep blue eyes captured him. He waited for her to speak again, not trusting his voice.

She cleared her throat and mercifully looked away. "I'm sorry, I'm bad that this. I don't talk with too many people…" She paused, running a hand over her mussed ponytail. "And now I'm… okay, anyway, I just wanted to say sorry."

"For?" he murmured, completely lost. She was clearly nervous as hell, but he had no idea what she was talking about.

"That day," she paused and then clarified, "the first day we met. I wasn't in a good place and you interrupted me at a really bad time in my program. So anyway, I'm really sorry."

Bellamy had no idea what to say. He hadn't been expecting this from the Ice Princess and despite the obvious honesty behind her words he had no desire to interact with her more than necessary. Her eyes did funny things to his heart rate and he knew better than to go down that road. She was the princess and he was the janitor and nothing, not even her clear humanity, could surmount that.

"Thanks," he muttered, already moving toward the exit. "See you around."

"Bellamy!"

Her voice echoed down the hallway, but he had no intention of turning around. Bellamy's life was already complicated enough; he had absolutely no room for Clarke Griffin. He headed for the cleaning closet, trying to forget the look on Clarke's face as he fled the room. He pulled open the door and shut it quickly behind him, collapsing against the wall, his ragged breathing the only sound in the room.

"Get it together," he hissed at himself. "O needs you"

"That your sister?"

Bellamy swung around to find Kane leaning against the snack counter, eying Octavia at her regular seat next to Clarke. While he'd generally ignored the blonde for the past week, his sister had taken a liking to sharing her table. Octavia had justified it by insisting that Clarke could help her with all of her math homework, but Bellamy suspected more devious motivations.

"Yeah," he sighed, turning to face Kane. "She's in a bit of tough spot right now, but it turns out taking her here has at least kept her in school."

Kane's eyes rested heavily on him. "Not dealing with your mother's death very well." It wasn't a question. Bellamy dropped his gaze, but nodded. He might not be very close with Kane, but he trusted the older man to keep his confidence. "We're here for you if need anything, Bellamy."

Bellamy swallowed thickly, nodding. "Thanks."

Kane turned his attention back to Octavia. "We have an opening at the snack shop for regionals and some of the bigger hockey tournament days at the rink. Octavia would be perfect for the job."

"I…" Bellamy opened and then shut his mouth. The offer was far too generous, but he didn't want to immediately shoot Kane down.

"Just think about it." Kane clasped his shoulder and then retreated toward the front desk, turning his attention to the line of customers Miller was helping.

Bellamy took a last lingering look at Octavia before turning back to mop the second half of the lobby. The rec skate earlier in the day had included two school groups and the mess they'd left in their wake was going to be pain in his ass.

It took nearly half an hour to get all the skittles unstuck from the rubber mats and by that time Bellamy was ready to just ban all children from the rink. He snorted to himself. Yes, he could just picture it now. "Sorry kids, ice skating is now 18 and over."

"I'm glad you find humor in this," a biting voice cut through his amusement. "I just want to kill the little bastards and go home."

Of course. He'd forgotten he shared this particular shift with Murphy. While Bellamy occasionally drifted into the darkly sarcastic, Murphy had built a log cabin there. "Lovely to see you too."

"Oh, get over it, Blake, you're as pissed off as I am that these cretins were allowed to coat the damn floor in colored sugar." Murphy motioned toward the freestyle skaters lacing up for the next session. "We should absolutely refuse next time and let the damn privileged do the work for once."

"In case you've forgotten, Murphy, this is our job." Bellamy inwardly rolled his eyes and stashed his mop back in the bucket. "We did actually sign up for this."

"Forgive me for wanting to keep my dignity," Murphy muttered back. "Maybe some day we'll be promoted to zam drivers…"

Bellamy's abruptly turned to face Murphy. "Wait, is that even possible?"

Murphy shrugged. "I figure since the last few they hired started out as janitors that's just the way it goes. Shoveling snow sure beats the pants off shoveling trash."

Bellamy hummed in agreement, eyeing the Zamboni room with new interest. He'd never had an interest in the smoothing and restoring machine as a kid, but now he realized Murphy was right. Shoveling snow and laying new ice was a million times better that scrubbing sugary goo off the floor. He'd have to ask Miller later.

Murphy had continued speaking and Bellamy tuned back in just in time to catch his latest question, "… how about you? Working regionals? The sheer amount of glitter that coats this place is horrifying."

"Regionals?" He frowned, his tongue darting out to coat his lips. He knew he'd heard the phrase before, but honestly he hadn't paid much attention to what was happening at the rink. His hands had been more than tied with Octavia and her current proclivity towards excess violence. There hadn't been an incident in the last week, but Bellamy knew better than to think he could relax.

"Yeah, North Atlantic Regionals? The rink is hosting them." Murphy sighed when Bellamy's face remained blank. "It's like this, Blake. The little ice glitter queens need to win at regionals to go to sectionals and then they need to win there to go to Nationals, which is the big deal. There are like a million levels that they compete at, so this place becomes a complete glittery madhouse."

Kane's offer made more sense now. They would definitely need additional support at the snack bar if Murphy were even partially correct. "Any skaters from here competing?"

Murphy looked at him in disbelief again. "You really don't notice much, do you? There are a few skaters at the lower levels competing. The ones whose music is played continually this week gives you a hint. And of course, there's Finn Collins and the Ice Princess herself, Clarke Griffin."

"Griffin's competing?" The words escaped before Bellamy could stop them. He tried to play it off, running a hand through his hair and staring with disinterest at the newly cleaned rubber tiles.

Murphy snorted and gave him a knowing look that made Bellamy's gut twist unpleasantly. "Griffin is the star of the show. She's been working her ass off this year to make it to nationals. She's only junior level, but that's still super competitive." Murphy's gaze slid to Clarke and Octavia's table. "Might be her last year since next year she's supposed to go to college. Maybe if she does well her parents will support her moving up to Senior. They've made this whole building work for her…"

Bellamy couldn't tear his eyes from Clarke's blonde head as she leaned toward his sister, pointing to some formula in the Algebra textbook laid out between them. He'd thought… he actually wasn't sure what he'd thought. He'd known she was serious about her skating, but he hadn't known that she was that good. Bellamy had made a point to never watch her while she skated, always looking away when her blond ponytail streaked across his vision. Apparently, he'd been missing out.

"So she's good?"

For once Murphy wasn't sarcastic. "Yeah. She's the real deal. She doesn't always have the best presentation scores, but she's got the jumps and spins."

"Huh," Bellamy tried to hide his piqued interest, but he was sure Murphy saw right through him. Thankfully, Murphy was quickly distracted by another pile of calcified skittles under the benches and Bellamy was left in peace to contemplate the mysteries of Clarke Griffin.


	4. Building a Foundation

The fog hovered low, swirling around her ankles as Clarke's blades bit into the ice. The rink was eerily silent; the only sound the slice and rip of her blades. This was Clarke's favorite time, when the rink transformed into an ice kingdom all her own. The staff hadn't arrived yet; the first hockey practice didn't begin for another hour. She was alone and the freedom of the ice spread before her.

Clarke couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she wove her way down the long axis, her blades sliding through the occasional back loop or rocker. The weight of regionals fell away, nothing but a wisp of fog at her feet. Inhaling deeply she pushed faster, relishing the cold wind caressing her flushed cheeks. She sunk into a series of deep crossovers, reaching down to touch her left hand to the ground as she deepened the edges.

She rose from the deep glide and used a simple Mohawk to slip backwards, digging even deeper as she accelerated. Her edges made a low groaning noise that echoed through the rink as she flew, pushing her skates to their maximum. Whenever she forgot why she was here, trying for some impossible dream, Clarke only had to listen to the groan of her blades and feel the wind in her hair. This was the freedom she was addicted to, the place that transported her beyond herself to a place where each movement was poetry and there was nothing to hold her down.

Clarke swung effortlessly into a string of waltz jumps, easy half turns that warmed her leg muscles. Laughing, she stepped into an Axel, the one and half turns floating through the air like clouds on the wind. Another backwards crossover and she was swinging into a double salchow, the landing hissing across the ice. She kept pushing, running through her doubles before vaulting even higher and twirling faster as she vaulted through her triples.

Her blood was pounding now, her cheeks flushed with heat instead of cold. The layers of clothing pilled up on the side of the boards as she worked harder and faster, spinning and leaping her way through her short and then her long program. The short felt better now, in the dawn with no one watching. She could be free to emote, to push herself, in ways she never dared with an audience. Now she was raw, an emotional wreck begging for the ice to fix her.

Clarke skated over to the music box, sliding the headphone jack into her phone. Bare fingers working quickly, her gloves long since discarded, she keyed up her long program music. The last strains of the violin piece caressed her ears. Clarke stuck her opening pose, her chin high and her right toe pick dug into the ice behind her. Her arms spread wide before rising above her head, reaching to the rafters. The last beat of the music thundered through the air and Clarke tensed, waiting for the track to begin its repeat.

The opening drumbeats spurred her into motion, striking poses jaggedly until the first swell of the violin brought softness cascading through her. Her movements became delicate, strong, but careful. Clarke swirled through the opening combination, a triple flip triple toe loop combination that sent her soaring. The layback spin she fell into afterward, head dropping and back bending, rushed blood to her head, leaving stars dancing in vision as she pushed out of it, digging her blades deeper, gaining speed into her double axel triple toe loop combination.

Each note was an extension of her muscles, a scrape of her blades. She merged with the music, her movements synchronized with the haunting violin and vibrating drums. The cold air rushed through her lungs, filling her with icy tendrils of joy. The triple loop vaulted her in time with the atmospheric wind catapulting the violin stains to an otherworldly level. Clarke bent and twisted as she made her way through the subsequent footwork sequence. Rockers, counters, twizzles and choctaws melded together into one sweet song. Her final flying camel spin, leg extend back behind her, arms weaving patterns through the air, was sweet release. Clarke sank into her final position, collapsed to the ice, arms twisted behind her head, muscles shaking and breath shuddering in her chest. She sank further, kneeling in surrender as euphoria coated her veins. She could barely remember the program she'd skated, seven triples and four spins, but she knew it was good, exactly what she'd been searching for.

After several minutes simply breathing, she rose to her feet, edges humming as she pushed across the ice. She looked toward the boards, searching her blue water bottle, but stopped short, her blades scraping sharply. Her muscles clenched and her jaw tightened, euphoria draining out of her in an instant. Wide brown eyes stared back at her, flickering rapidly across her face.

She stood frozen, mere feet from the box where he stood burning holes through her with his dark eyes. The weight of reality surged over her, drowning her and leaving her breathless. His jaw worked, but no words emerged from his full lips. He'd been cordial enough since her hard fought apology, but Bellamy Blake had also made ignoring her a full time profession. He'd greet her when Octavia joined her to study, but beyond that, there had been a deliberate radio silence between them. Now he stared at her like he wanted to consume her with his burning darkness.

The moment stretched on, chills racing down her spine and stealing her breath yet again. Finally his eyes shuttered and Clarke regained control. She closed the distance between them, fingers closing around the water bottle resting on the board beside him.

"A little early to be at work, isn't it Blake?"

Her voice sounded breathy, foreign. His eyes traced her features again, their intensity abating. "It's nearly five, hockey starts in less than five minutes."

"Five?" she murmured, turning her gaze the glowing clock on the scoreboard. The hour had flown by faster than she'd anticipated. "Shit. You need to do the ice, don't you?"

Bellamy looked at her oddly, his brow furrowing. "That's still Miller's job… I don't have Zamboni status."

Frowning, Clarke climbed into the box next to him, sinking to the bench as she slid her blades between her fingers, sending the built up ice splattering on the ground. "Oh," she glanced at him, expecting him to beat a hasty retreat as usual. Instead he stayed beside her, his dark eyes still searching her for some elusive answer. Clarke swallowed, turning away from him to study the melting mounds of ice decorating the rubber tiles.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer than she'd ever heard it, reverent even. "I had no idea."

Startled she swung back to him. Her breath caught, her fingers tightening in the air as he captured her with his eyes. No one had ever looked at her like he did now. Clarke forced air into her lungs, thankful for the sting of the cold against her throat. "About what?"

He shook his head, dark curls flying asunder, as he cut his eyes away from her. "You. I had no idea you were that…" He couldn't seem to find the words to finish the sentence. Instead, his hypnotizing gaze caught her once again, doing dangerous things to her pulse. His teeth worried his lips, drawing her gaze down. She tried to tear herself away, but a greater power fastened her eyes upon him. She drank in his features like a desert nomad at an oasis. Clarke had never really studied him before, never allowed her eyes to feast on the chiseled panes of his face or the dark flutter of his eyelashes. But she couldn't look away. No matter how hard her brain screamed that this was absurd, that he hated her, she couldn't break away from him.

The rink door clanged open, the echoes reverberating through her, and suddenly the ice was a swarm of hockey players, purple and gold jerseys glowing dully under fluorescent lights. Clarke blinked, free of the spell. She sucked in a deep breath and turned back to Bellamy, but he was gone, the swinging door to the lobby the only evidence he'd been beside her.

Groaning, she hauled herself upright, slipping on her hard guards to avoid damaging her blades. Gathering her clothes from the board, she turned away from the ice. The lobby was deserted except a handful of tardy hockey players, only Kane visible at the front desk. She untied her skates on autopilot, drying her blades and placing them back in her duffle bag.

Clarke had no idea what to think. She wasn't even sure the encounter hadn't simply been a figment of her imagination. In either case, she supposed this changed nothing. He'd still barely spoken to her and although his eyes had been arresting, she doubted it was anything but a fluke. Bellamy Blake hated her guts and Clarke had accepted that as part of reality several weeks ago. He probably just hadn't known she could skate, let alone do triples. It's not like he had ever watched her before. Ever since the first week she'd been hyper aware of his presence and he had never once looked her way while inside the rink. She nodded firmly to herself. It was nothing. She would just chalk it up to his surprise actually seeing her skate. Shoving her bag under the bench, Clarke pulled out her AP Physics homework. Best put it out of her mind and solve a few of these damn kinematics problems before Mrs. Kane arrived.


	5. The Glitter Invasion

With the advent of regionals, was the invasion of ghastly amounts of glitter, just as Murphy had predicted. The offending substance coated the floor of the lockers rooms, the bathrooms, even the snack bar. Bellamy had no idea how it could possibly have made its way there, but there appeared to be a strong possibility that one could order nachos with purple sparkles. Octavia had taken to the new job with far more gusto than he thought she possessed. She even smiled nicely at the little ice princesses with bows on their butts and daddy's wallet in their hands. He was positive that an alien body snatching was the only explanation, but Bellamy wasn't about to jinx his luck. There hadn't been a call from the high school in the past two weeks and if body snatching was what it took, he supposed he was willing to pay the price.

"Only two more days," Murphy muttered, slumped against the doorway to one of the hockey locker rooms, currently invaded by the novice, junior and senior men.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at Murphy, noting a distinct sparkle. "Murphy, you definitely have glitter in your hair."

A drowning ostrich would have best reproduced the noise Murphy emitted. "God dammit, Blake. I am so fucking sick of this shit."

A smile tugged at Bellamy's lips, but he did his best keep a straight face. "Just be thankful all the younger kids are done. I think I saw a woman trying to turn her six year old into a porn star on ice."

Murphy moaned in pained agreement. "More than one mother. I get off at eight tonight, thank god. How about you?"

"I'm closing tonight. I guess it gives me a chance to see the juniors and seniors." Bellamy was by no means educated in the world of figure skating, but in the week leading up to regionals and the subsequent madhouse that was the competition, he'd started paying attention. Most of what they did out there was damn hard and he had to admit that maybe figure skaters were a bit tougher than they looked. Not that he would ever admit that in public.

"Looking forward to seeing a particular blonde?"

Bellamy tried as hard as he could not to glare at Murphy. The annoying twit was disturbing perceptive and had spent the past few days mercilessly bringing up Clarke Griffin. Bellamy was well aware how stupid his brain got when he saw her these days and he didn't need Murphy constantly poking at that particular sore spot. He had successfully avoided the Griffin heir for the entire week leading up to regionals. He didn't need to risk gaping like a fish out of water again, thank you very much.

"Fuck off, Murphy."

Murphy just rolled his eyes. "Don't think I don't know exactly what's going through that head of yours. At least she's legal, but I'm pretty sure it's still a bad idea to screw your boss' daughter."

There was a roaring in his ears and then Murphy was against the wall and Bellamy's first was clutching his worn teeshirt. His voice was barely human as he growled, "Don't you ever talk about her like that again."

"Okay, jeez, I get it, Blake." His eyes scanned the room behind them. "The glitter terrors are beginning to stare though."

Bellamy stepped away as if burned, dropping his hold and raking a hand through his hair. "Damn. Sorry, Murphy."

The other man eyed him carefully, keeping a generous distance between them. Finally, Murphy nodded and motioned toward the locker room behind them. "I'll take this one."

The door flapped shut before Bellamy could say anything else. He took a deep breath. He hadn't snapped like that since before his mom passed and he'd been thrust into the unwelcome role caretaker. He'd had his share of stupid in high school, back when he was just angry that they never had quite enough on the table and sometimes his mother's fittings weren't about clothing.

Bellamy remembered the first night he'd learned about her "special" clients and the services rendered. He'd hooked up with good girl Gina Franklin, stolen a car and sent a brick through the window of one of those clients. Not his finest moments, especially since he hadn't planned for Gina to fall for him after a quick grope in the back of a stolen pickup. He'd dated her long enough to ruin her, at least as far as her god-fearing parents were concerned. They'd moved away as soon as they caught their daughter sneaking home after a late night rendezvous with the town's bad boy. Bellamy didn't exactly regret his time with Gina, but his motivations hadn't been pure. He'd wanted someone to hurt like he did, unfortunately that ended up being Gina, not her parents or the scumbags that screwed his mother for money.

Bellamy took another deep breath, relishing the flow of air and lessening the fierce drumbeat of his pounding temples. It was usually better if he just didn't think about Gina.

"Earth to Bell?" Octavia surged into his space, a wide grin on her face.

He took another steadying breath and frowned down at her. "What do you want, O?"

"I have break from serving the devil's spawn. Want to catch a bit of the action? I think the Senior men are up and even though I know nothing about this insane sport, I do know they have the best jumps and I'm all for watching them splat spectacularly on the ice." Her grin grew feral as she finished.

Bellamy blinked down at her. "You want to watch them fall?"

"Duh." She rolled her eyes. "Isn't that the best part? You can't possibly enjoy all the other floofy shit."

Yes, definitely never telling Octavia that he might occasionally enjoy watching figure skating. "Anyone we know skating?"

If possible her smile grew even larger. "Finn Collins. I can't wait to watch that brat fall flat on his face."

"You know Finn?" Bellamy was vaguely aware that Finn existed, in the same way that he was aware Murphy was dating an ex-gang member from his side of town. He paid attention when people talked. But he hadn't heard anything interesting about Finn Collins. The guy was generally likable, always apologized when he got in Bellamy's way and generally didn't seem to be worth the ire that was gleaming in Octavia's eyes.

"Well, not exactly," she admitted, "but Clarke talks about him sometimes. Would you believe he tried to date both Clarke Griffin and Raven Rayes at the same time? Apparently Reyes sent a hockey puck through his jaw."

The admiration in his sister's eyes was disturbing. "I'm pretty sure they worked that out ages ago. It doesn't seem like either Clarke or Raven hold a grudge now," he pointed out. He'd seen the three of them laughing in the lobby plenty of times to know that whatever bad blood had existed was long since water under the bridge.

O shrugged and moved toward the doors to the competition rink. "Doesn't mean I can't hate his guts enough for the both of them now. Join me when you can, big brother."

Bellamy watched her go, the uneasiness he'd felt around her recently growing stronger. He knew it was good that she seemed to be coping, but the destruction flashing in her eyes was more than a passing emotion. She'd lashed out before and just because the school hadn't been calling didn't mean they were out of the woods. He sighed and glanced at the lobby clock. Ten minutes left before his break. He would definitely be joining O in the stands, if only to keep an eye on her.

Clarke tried to contain her laughter as Raven provided a constant commentary on the costumes adorning the senior men. Some of the entrants whizzing around the warm up ice were truly garish with sequins exploding out of areas best left un-garnished. She'd seen a lot of strange things at competitions over the years, but the blonde with a sun yellow sequin tail had her giggling even without Raven's sarcasm.

"Not quite Iliya Kulik bad, but awfully close," Clarke commented.

"Definitely Stephane Lambiel bad," Raven countered.

"At least neither of them actually had any attributes of a zebra or a leopard." Raven glanced at the corner where Finn, in a sedated dark blue collared shirt and black pants, had just landed a triple lutz. "And Finn looks downright normal tonight."

Clarke nodded, "We need someone to keep the building from all the magic fox tail juju."

"Yes, no magic zebra allowed tonight." Raven let her eyes slide toward Clarke before she turned back to the rink, her gaze following Finn through his footwork sequence.

"You can ask." Clarke told her, sighing.

Raven stared at her, sharp eyes digesting Clarke's every breath. She tried not squirm under the scrutiny. Besides, she had nothing to hide from Raven anyway. Finally, the brunette nodded. "Okay. How do you really feel about 6th? I know it wasn't what you wanted going into the long."

Clarke had been expecting the question and honestly she was surprised Raven had lasted the afternoon before asking. She didn't know what to feel about her finish. She'd been hit or miss with the short program all year and while she'd done better artistically since her breakthrough with Ivan, she'd never really found that passion again. It seemed that she had to be seething and ready to decapitate one Bellamy Blake to reach such artistic greatness. That thought was so unacceptable that she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge his role in her breakthrough, let alone consider why those feelings might have triggered the grand passion required by the dying swan.

So Clarke's performance that afternoon had been lackluster as ever in the artistry department. She'd hit all the jumps, even the troublesome triple loop, and had skated clean, but her score reflected just how flat her performance had fallen. There were two girls ahead of her who'd tanked their triple-triple combos. Maybe last year Clarke would have been upset, raging at the unfairness of it, but now she understood. At this level a fall on a jump was okay if your competitor was a skating cardboard box.

Clarke shrugged, "I wish I could have done better for sure, but I'm pretty sure I deserve it. Ivan didn't seem surprised."

Raven rolled her eyes. "Wow, way to be a trooper, Clarke. So Andrea Joyce, our competitor here feels she deserved her low marks, what do you think?"

"I am not getting interviewed by Andrea Joyce, if I was, all I'd have to say is I skated my best and I'll work harder for next time. It's the mandatory line given to all competitors by US Figure Skating." While Clarke might be kidding, she wasn't wrong. Every post competition interview always involved the most painfully politically correct responses, no matter well or poorly the skater had done. "I'd like to think I'd be more like Johnny Wier."

"Like you have the guts to pull a Johnny," the brunette retorted. "I can't imagine Ice Princess Griffin saying anything profane or drug related, and both of those would definitely be required."

Clarke still flinched at Raven's nickname, but she'd come to accept it as part of their friendship. It certainly didn't help that Bellamy Blake had come up with the same title independently. Was she really that much of a prima donna? She sincerely hoped not, but then again a life without school and peers made it rather hard for her to gain any perspective on her life. "I can be improper."

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," Raven shot back.

Clarke sighed and turned her attention to the competitor on the ice. Riker Williams, a solid jumper without a hint of artistry. Just like Clarke. They'd been skating together for years and Clarke had no doubt that Finn would wipe the floor with him, just like the Junior ladies field had done with her.

"You seriously need to stop brooding," Raven groused, her eyes on the ice. "I can feel you thinking and it's not doing you any good. You have the long tomorrow and I'm sure you'll make it to sectionals this year."

"I've made it to sectionals before you know," Clarke protested, flinching as Riker fell on a bracket in his footwork. Thankfully, Riker popped back up, the building melody of Carmen catapulting him into a solid triple axel.

Raven applauded next to her. "I know you've made it, but that was at Novice. Shit's more serious at Junior."

"Hardly, all of us at Junior are either just waiting to test for senior and already are superstars or you're like me and you've given up on being a nationally competitive skater." It sucked, it really did, but Clarke knew she was right. There were the set of girls just barely old enough to attend the Olympics that were ascending the ranks and then there were the older girls, barely able to keep themselves together for another season. She didn't enjoy being one of those well beyond her glory days, but she loved the ice and she wasn't about to let her parents efforts be entirely for naught. They'd rearranged their lives, bought the rink, given her tottering Mrs. Kane all in the effort to give her "the dream."

Riker Williams landed a quad salchow and Clarke brought her palms together, barely feeling the slap of skin. Raven glanced her way, eyes full of more sympathy than Clarke could stand.

"I'm going to take a walk." Raven nodded at her, eyes still painfully understanding.

Clarke took off up the bleachers. The event wasn't crowded, all the young skaters and their parents had gone home, leaving the stand bereft of anyone but the faithful friends of the competitors. Clarke couldn't blame them for leaving, endless jumps and repeated music became awfully dull after a few hours. The men's event was at an absurdly late hour anyway, almost 9 PM. Clarke had skated that late a few times and it hadn't gone well. She knew you were supposed to skate your program well regardless of the hour, but that was a load of crap. She hardly knew anyone who could even manage to skate half as well at such a late hour.

The upper part of the stands was completely empty and she took the opportunity to pace from one end to the other, keeping half an eye on the competitors below. She didn't want to leave and miss Finn, but she couldn't stand another minute with Raven and her cool condemnation. Clarke knew her friend didn't mean anything by her comments, her belief that Clarke was destined to one Nationals appearance at least, but some days Clarke just couldn't stand the pressure. She didn't want to acknowledge that Raven thought she was giving up, not after all Raven had gone through.

An unlucky puck and a well-aimed hit had led to six surgeries and still Raven wasn't as fast on the ice as she used to be. Clarke knew her friend hated it and she couldn't allow Raven to see her give up, no matter how Clarke felt about the matter.

Not that she was sure how she felt at all. She knew the ice gave her a peace she just couldn't find elsewhere. She knew it smelled and felt like home, but the discerning eyes of the judges and the whispered comments of her competitors weren't part of that feeling. She loved to perform, but she didn't love to be judged. Maybe she'd be better off just joining Holiday or Disney on Ice. She could see the world and skate. As if her mother would even let Clarke disappear to another continent just to skate. It was nationals or bust and she knew it.

"You done?"

The deep voice had her stumbling for a moment, dropping to sit on the bleachers to mask her surprise. "What?"

Bellamy Blake stared down at her, his dark eyes full of addictive mystery, daring her to lean closer. "Are you done skating?"

She chewed over his words. He likely had no idea how the competition worked, so perhaps he was asking if she was done competing? "I skated earlier, but I still have long program tomorrow. We have two parts, short program and long program. They add the scores together to determine who wins."

He blinked, blinked again and sank onto the bench next to her. "I swear you people make this way more confusing than it needs to be."

A small smile broke across her lips. "Yeah. Just wait until you hear about the scoring system. It makes you wish you'd paid more attention in math."

"I bet." His wry smile had her heart skipping a beat. She looked down at the ice; Finn still was waiting at the boards. "So how'd it go today?"

She wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by the ice below. Her lips felt numb as she tried to formulate a response. "I… well… actually not very well."

Clarke could feel the heat of his fathomless stare upon her face. "Not well?"

"I came in 6th. You have to be in 4th or higher to make it to sectionals, so not well." A long pause hung between them. She scrambled to fill the silence. "But I landed all my jumps."

"That's good?" The statement was more of a question and she couldn't help turning to face him, basking in the intensity of his dark eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, turning abruptly to look at the skater below. "Is it not just how many jumps you land?"

The laughter escaped her before she could even consider quelling it. "No, it's a lot more complicated than that. We're judged on how well we do jumps and spins, but also how artistic we are. Even the old, super corrupt system had an artistic score. That's the one you heard people getting perfect 6.0's on."

"Ah," Bellamy murmured. "Clearly complicated. So you didn't get good artistic scores? I find that hard to believe."

Clarke wasn't sure what to say. Her emotions had gone into sudden overdrive and there was an absurd urge to tell him all about her artistic woes, including his role in her improvement. But that was stupid, she hardly knew him and most of the times she saw him, he was ducking into another hallway to avoid her. "I, uh, haven't really been that great at artistry. Ivan tells me I'm just not feeling the music, but I'm pretty sure it's not that simple."

"I think you look good." He bit his lip as soon as the words escaped, angling further away from her.

"Uh," she paused, utterly inarticulate, "thanks?"

Bellamy seemed to gain confidence as he turned toward her, his eyes flashing in away that stole her breath away. "Clarke, you're good. You're artistic. I've seen you skate beautifully. Don't let the stupid judges tell you how to skate." He flushed, his freckled cheeks rosy as he stood and moved toward the lobby doors. He paused at the end of the row, turning back to her. "You can do this."

Without another word, he turned and jogged down the stairs. Clarke's heart was racing and her fingers tingling. She took a steadying breath as the announcer called Finn's name. She'd never been more grateful for a distraction.


	6. A Moment in Time

Clarke's breath condensed in front of her, floating up to the rafters as she took another deep breath. This was the moment, the moment she'd been training for, hoping for, dreading. She could barely feel her skates underneath her, the warm up session seemed a lifetime ago and her knees were jelly. _You can do this_. She felt his voice deep within her bones, a fire ripping through her, igniting life into her frozen form.

Then the music started and she was exploding outward, moving to thundering drums, sailing across the rising tide of violins. The jumps were barely a thought, as a constant a flow as her circular step sequence. She soared, rising above and gliding below with the supple bend of her knees. She loved this piece, and today, she became it. He blades dug deeper, held firmer than ever before. Clarke could feel herself reaching for the rafters, daring to dance on air.

She barely registered that the entire three and a half minute program had ended until Raven's delighted shrieks penetrated her euphoric aura. Then she was on her knees, her strength giving out in a sudden rush of breath and joy. Clarke forced her way back to her feet, remembered to bow to the judges and finally made her way, still feeling entirely out of body, to Ivan at the side of the rink. The smile on his face pulled her back to reality.

"I knew you had it in you," he beamed down at her. She took her guards from his hand and moved to sit on the nearest bench. Regionals didn't have the Kiss and Cry area featured in national and international competition, but they would be able to hear her scores before the next competitor took the ice.

Clarke slumped against the wall behind her, scarcely able to believe the program she'd just performed. She knew the jump elements were good, they nearly always were. Ivan had made sure she'd had picture perfect jump technique from the time he'd arrived to coach her. But to feel that elated throughout a performance, she'd never experienced that before.

"The score for Clarke Griffin, representing the Hudson Valley Figure Skating Club, is 85.59 giving her a total score of 125.58. She is currently in first place." Not that first place was a terribly big deal right now since there were still seven skaters yet to go. The score was good though, a personal best for Clarke.

She followed Ivan out of the rink, thankful when she could no longer hear the next competitor's music. This was her moment and she didn't want it ruined by some thirteen year old landing a perfect triple lutz triple toe or something equally insane. She reached down to untie her skates on autopilot, her fingers shaking as they tangled with the laces. Finally her skates were off and dried and her feet were firming back inside her sparkly tennis shoes.

"I'm so proud of you Clarke!" Her mother swooped down like a hawk upon its prey. For once she didn't tense at the words, or worry her mother was lying through her teeth. She'd skated well and whatever result came Clarke was more than satisfied.

"Seriously, honey, you were great out there." Her father clasped an arm around her shoulders. "We are so proud of you."

A grin split her face. "I'm so glad you were able to make it, dad!"

Jake Griffin gave her an indulgent grin. "As if I would miss by girl winning regionals."

"Dad," she grumbled, "I am not winning regionals. I'm not even sure I'll place to get to sectionals."

"I don't know," Finn's teasing voice cut in as he approached, "You were pretty awesome out there. Pretty sure you could have trounced a few of the guys too."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but a satisfied warmth tingled just below the surface of her skin. Raven appeared next to Finn, a resplendent grin lighting up her features. "Well I think it's time to crown the princess." Clarke glared at her, until Raven laughed. "But seriously, Clarke, you kicked all of the ass."

Finn glanced back at the rink, "and you only have to wait for five more skaters now."

"We already know how awesome she'll place," Wells interjected, patting Clarke on the back as he took a seat on the bench beside her. "Way to go, Griffin."

"Thanks, Jaha." Her face hurt from smiling so much, but Clarke could hardly remember a time in life she'd felt happier. All her friends surrounded her and she'd finally earned that feeling of being on top of the world.

Clarke barely listened to what Wells, Finn, Raven and her parents said as they chatted, the occasional bout of laughter filling the air. She was content to relax, to relive the scrape of her blades on the ice and the vault of her body through the air. It was only when Wells let out a loud whoop that she tuned back in, eyebrows raised in question.

"You won!" She blinked up at him, uncomprehending. A grin split his lips as he launched himself at her, his hug smothering her against his broad chest. "Clarke, you won North Atlantic Regionals!"

"But I was 6th in the short."

"You won the long, by a lot," Finn added, barely visible over Wells' shoulder.

Clarke rose from the bench, peeling herself free of Wells who went on to share congratulatory hugs with her parents. A flash of brown caught her eye as she turned and suddenly there was Bellamy Blake, standing across the lobby from her. The rest of the world fell away and all she could think of was his voice in her head as she flew across the ice. He held her gaze, eyes branding her until he abruptly nodded and looked away. A moment later he'd locked an arm around his sister's shoulders and they were heading out the door as if he'd never seen Clarke.


	7. Tis the Season

Fall was firmly in the air. The truck had been frosted over every morning for the past week and the stores were hawking more Halloween decorations than anyone would ever want to buy. The trees had exploded into their autumn splendor, leaving the entire Hudson Valley bathed in fiery reds and vibrant yellows. The first school break had come and gone and Octavia had managed to avoid detention or suspension for a month straight.

Overall, Bellamy felt things were finally falling into place. His job at the rink was now confortable like an old sweater and he'd finally begun putting some of his monthly income into a savings account. O's frame had grown broader and her cheeks held a healthy flush he'd never seen before. They were doing alright.

The aftermath of regionals had dissolved into frantic preparations for sectionals, to be hosted in Boston. He'd seen Clarke a handful of times and exchanged words a few times, but she was always running off to train and he was always reminding himself of his priorities, which did not involve the very attractive, blonde ice princess. So the weeks had passed and they'd fallen into a comfortable acquaintance that kept his life blessedly stress free.

He finished loading the Stop and Shop groceries into his car, wincing at the bag of chocolates that Octavia had begged him to buy. They'd never had the money for trick or treaters before and O was dead set on making up for all those years.

"Hey!"

Bellamy turned to find Wells Jaha leaning against the side of his truck. They'd spoken briefly over the past few months, but Wells didn't tend to go out of his way to talk to Bellamy, especially not at the supermarket.

"Can I help you?" Bellamy knew his voice was a little too gruff, but he didn't care.

To his credit, Wells didn't hesitate a beat. "The Thanksgiving charity game is coming up and I'm hoping you'd be willing to play. A lot of the Arkadia players are going down to the city for the holiday weekend, so we have a few more spots open than usual. I was going to ask Murphy too. Coach Pike promised he'd take whoever we asked. It's against the Gounders, from…" Wells trailed off, realizing Bellamy damn well knew what school the Grounders represented, considering he'd Attended West Arkadia High himself.

Bellamy decided to forgive him the misstep. "No age limits? I'm a bit more of an old man than you high schoolers these days."

Wells' lips twisted into a small smile. "No age limits, we're not entering as a school team and neither are the grounders. We'll probably go coed too, so we can have Raven kick all of their asses."

"Good call." He'd only seen Raven in action a few times, but what he'd seen had been impressive and downright intimidating when combined with the story of Finn's fractured jaw. He licked his lips, considering the offer. He hadn't been on the ice in years, but a few rec sessions and he'd have his feet under him again. "Okay, you're on."

"Great!" Genuine enthusiasm lit up Wells' face. "I think we're going to have a few informal practices before the event. Sectionals are the week after Thanksgiving, so we can't steal too much ice from Clarke and Finn, but I'm sure we'll work something out."

Bellamy nodded to him and turned back to the truck door as Wells sauntered toward his X5. He wasn't particularly sure he wanted to be back on the ice, but one game in the name of charity probably wasn't going to kill him. Unless Echo was playing. He winced, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Damn. He'd nearly forgotten about his on again, off again girlfriend from West. She'd somehow kept playing on the girls' travel team through high school and had kicked his ass during the few pickup games they'd played at the pond just outside of town. Last he'd heard Echo ran her own tattoo parlor and still scared the shit out of everyone she met.

They'd gotten into their fair amount of trouble together, which had been all in good fun until Echo had careened his truck into a homeless man off of 1st Street. He'd only suffered a broken leg, but that had been the end. The veil of Bellamy's anger had lifted enough for him to realize that Echo was absolutely no good for him. She only fanned the flames and he was damned if he was going to let her burn him to ashes. So they'd broken up and Echo's bricks shattered his mother's windows, but eventually hostilities had ceased and Bellamy had forgotten she existed.

He swallowed thickly and put the truck in gear. In all likelihood she'd stay as far away from the charity game as possible. It wasn't like her to want to do any good anyhow.

"So you're actually doing this?"

O's face was a mixture of confusion and thinly veiled humor. He rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, O. Jaha asked and I figured what the heck."

"You haven't been on skates since high school." She narrowed her eyes, her probing gaze searing over him. "And you vowed never to skate again, very loudly and proudly I might add. What gives?"

He stared back at her, schooling his features to what he hoped was ambivalence. "I just figured what the hell, you know?"

A dangerous smile spread across her features. "No, that's not it at all, is it? You're willing to get back on the ice for her."

"Her?" Bellamy sincerely hoped he didn't know where she was going with this. Octavia just glared at him. "What, O? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you absolutely do, big brother." She gave an exasperated sigh, "But if you'd rather live in denial, I suppose I'll let you. So what's the practice schedule like for this thing?"

Bellamy's shoulders relaxed, tension melting from his frame. "I think we've negotiated Tuesday and Thursday evening. Clarke and Finn weren't exactly happy about giving up ice, but we managed to convince them that two hours out of twenty wasn't going to make that big a difference. Plus that lets the rec skate session still pull in all the holiday season cash."

"Murphy playing too?"

He sighed, but nodded. "God help us all."

O snorted. "I actually think he's pretty good, Bell."

"I have no doubt that Murphy has some skill, but I fear he's just as likely to break my nose as someone from West's." He wasn't particularly inclined to ever turn his back to Murphy for too long.

Octavia was silent a long moment before asking, with more reserve than before, "Are you sure you're okay playing, especially against West?"

He settled further back onto the couch, his fingers tracing the zigzags of the blanket flung across it. Was he ready for this? When he'd quit, shortly after the Echo snafu, he'd been sure he'd never walk into the rink again. But here he was, dedicated employee of both the Griffins and the Jahas. If you'd told his younger self, he'd have died of laughter, deeming such an event impossible. But then again, tragedy made impossible things happen.

O wasn't wrong to suspect that one blonde ice princess might have something to do with is decision, but not in the way she assumed. Watching Clarke Griffin skate had made him yearn to be on the ice again, to feel the cool whip of air and the sharp hiss of his blades. Yes, something unexplored lurked between them, but that wasn't why he felt drawn to his skates for the first time in half a decade. She'd lit the fire within and he was helpless to its call. So ready or not, he was getting on that ice Tuesday and finding that lost portion of his soul.

"Yeah," he finally replied, "I'm ready."

She eyed him a moment longer. "Even against West?"

"It's not like I have a particular allegiance, O."

Octavia blinked slowly then stared at him as if she'd never seen him before. "You are kidding, right? Mom and I listened to you bitch about those rich Arkadia assholes for years. There is no way you're okay playing with them, especially against your own school."

Bellamy couldn't help the scowl that tugged at his lips. "A lot has changed, O. I have grown up, or haven't you noticed?"

"But you hate them!"

"I don't hate them, O. At least not anymore." He paused, drawing a hand through his disheveled curls. "Look, a lot has changed since mom… since she…"

"Died."

He nodded gratefully at her. "I used to be really angry that we didn't get the same opportunities as people like Wells Jaha, but I lost sight of what was really important. You and mom were the world to me and I didn't figure that out until mom was dead and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save her. So yeah, whatever crap I used to say, that's in the past. There's no point in being angry at the world, O, it just passes you by."

His sister was silent for several long moments, her throat working around silent words. Finally, she clasped his hand, her small fingers lacing through his. "I get that. I know I haven't been the easiest to deal with and I'm not really sure what's going through my head most of the time, but I get that."

Bellamy slid his hand from hers to pull her firmly next to him. "We're going to be okay."

"Yes," she echoed, "We are."


	8. On Edge

The calendar on the rink wall showed ten days until sectionals and all Clarke wanted to do was cross them all out so she could finally be there. As a child she'd often wished that her test sessions would fly past without her notice so she could she her results, but avoid the bevy of nerves that drove her to distraction as her skate loomed ever nearer. She'd out grown the desire, but not the nerves. Ever since her success at regionals, the pressure had been constant, unyielding. Clarke was used to being the underdog, the skater that just never quite made it, but now she was the it girl. Skating Magazine had called to check on her and several bloggers had reached out to chronicle her journey to sectionals. She'd turned them all down, confused by their interest and wary of the task ahead of her.

Ivan had been patient, well aware of her habit of self-destruction, and she'd almost been able to imagine they were training for an exhibition or a summer competition. Almost. Finn had tried to help in his own way, but the constant vibration of dread never quite left her stomach.

On the plus side, her programs had never been skated with more feeling, her expressions never quite so raw. Clarke felt every nerve burning each second she pushed across the ice. If not for the accompanying sense of utter dread, the high could have been addictive.

In the end, she found there was little to do but continue to train. So she tried her best to push past the oppression of her nerves and the weight of dread upon her chest. She'd done it before; she could do it again. She'd repeated the phrase until it was merely a jumble of vowels and consonants against the sound of her breath.

Finn's music was blasting out of the speakers and Clarke felt embarrassingly glad that Ivan's last lesson of the day was him, not her. She'd had enough of his disappointed stares after she'd popped not one, but all of her jumps in her last rendition of her long. It had been nearly as bad as Gracie Gold the year before at nationals. At least Ivan wasn't going to publicly dump Clarke in the middle of a National Championships; she was never going to get to a National Championships.

Finn flew past, the setup for his triple lutz sending air rushing through her hair. She glanced at the clock, fifteen minutes left. Clarke took a deep breath of chilled air and pushed off. She'd already run her programs enough that Ivan wasn't going to admonish her if she spent the last few minutes on her footwork sequences. They needed work anyway. Clarke had spent so much of her skating career as a jumping automaton that fully embracing a step sequence was still a new experience. No more throwing her hands wherever she felt and providing the most basic edge quality. This year her blades dug deep and her fingers reached to the rafters.

She dove into her circular step, arms stretching high as her right blade dug into a swing rocker. Then her left toe pick was skidding across the ice into a back pivot, rotating her in perfect circles before pushing into a series of twizzles that spun her down the ice. She bent her knees further, letting the side of her boot kiss the ice as she danced through a sequence of counters and wide flowing choctaws. Her hand caressed the ice as she continued through an illusion, her leg high as her body dipped dangerously low. Then she was on her toes, twirling to the beat of Finn's music, before dropping low again into a back lunge variation that had her knee bent and her back arched like a swan's neck. The sequence ended with a bang as she surged up above the ice in a flying split that had her floating for an infinite second before settling back to solid ground.

Ivan's watchful eyes were on her as she skated back to the boards. "That was better. More of that."

Clarke took a gulp of water before nodding. "I'll try."

"Do or do not. There is no try."

Clarke stared at him, jaw working silently. Finally she managed to speak. "Did you just quote Yoda?"

He shrugged, his eyes already focused on Finn as he skated toward them, program complete. "Whatever works, Ms. Griffin."

By the time Clarke could come up with a reply, he was already facing away from her, hands moving in an elaborate demonstration of Finn's flaws. Great. Ivan had resorted to Star Wars for his coaching strategies. Maybe she really was that impossible. Yoda probably had a quote about that too, she reflected. Another look at the clock had her groaning again. Ten minutes. So often her sessions flew by so fast she was hardly aware they were ending, but since regionals they'd dragged on so slowly she could hardly stand it.

She pushed off the boards again, but instead of heading into another footwork sequence or spin, she headed into crossovers in the clockwise direction. Most skaters took off for their axels, salchows and loops in the counter clockwise direction, as did Clarke, but she had taken to practicing jumping and spinning the opposite direction to help her technique and challenge herself in a way that would never be tested in competition. She few through a series of waltz jumps, enjoying the novelty of landing on her left foot. A few more laps around and she'd ticked off

Salchow, loop and toe. Flip was fairly easy as well, the right back inside edge leading cleanly to a toe assisted takeoff. Lutz, however, was her personal nemesis when it came to jumping this direction. The jump involved a windup to the left while on a back outside edge and then a sudden reversal of momentum to the right with a toe assisted takeoff. Without the reversal and the outside edge, the jump was merely a flip in disguise. Despite several years of training this direction, Clarke still fell over her feet on most of the takeoffs.

She took a steadying breath and visualized her normal lutz takeoff. Then she walked through the reverse, feeling the take off edge firmly on the outside. Holding on to the confidence of her walk through, she gained speed and held along a diagonal for her takeoff edge. When the jump sprung from the ice it was better than her usual attempts and she couldn't help the smile that adorned her face.

Unfortunately Ivan didn't appear to share her joy. He stopped beside her as Finn flew past, a blast of cool air in his wake. "Perhaps we should change the direction of all your jumping passes."

Deep Russian accent or not, Clarke knew sarcasm when she heard it. "It helps my concentration."

"Apparently not enough to have you land any of the seven jumps in your program. You're not going to be placing in the top ten if you only hit a double axel." The sarcasm had faded and now Ivan simply looked tired. Clarke couldn't blame him. Her successes came it such fits and starts that even she felt frustrated.

"I'm trying," she insisted, skating with him to the boards as they gathered their belongings. "I just don't know why I can't do it sometimes."

Ivan turned her, dark brows drawing together. "Do you even want to win?"

Clarke blinked, staring back at him. "What?"

"Do you want to win?" he repeated.

"I want to skate." It clearly wasn't the answer he was looking for, but Ivan nodded and turned away to chat with Finn as they slipped the rubber guards onto their blades.

A flash of dark hair caught her attention and she turned to find Bellamy Blake decked out in full hockey gear, helmet under arm. She blinked at the sight of him, so different from the janitor she was used to seeing.

He frowned at her, his full lips tilting down. "Do I have dirt on my face or something?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she powered on. "No, it's just I've never seen you with skates on before. At least, not that I remember."

"I can skate," he said, defensive.

She shook her head quickly, pony tail whipping back and forth. "No, no… I knew that, but I just… well, it's different."

His dark eyes softened and a hint of humor twisted his lips. "Good different?"

Now she knew he was teasing her. Since regionals they'd spent more time talking casually, acting like being normal human beings together, and she knew exactly what that quirk of his lips meant. She stamped down on the frenzy of butterflies in her stomach. Slightly short of breath, she replied, "Just different, different."

His knowing eyes gleamed back at her, forcing her to look down. Her laces had gotten rather dirty; maybe she'd replace them before sectionals? "So are you coming to the game on Friday?"

"Huh?"

"The charity game," He clarified and she found the courage to look back at him. The humor still danced his eyes, but she could breathe again.

"Oh," she recovered, graceful as ever, "I'm kind of required to attend. Not that I wouldn't go anyways, but since my dad and Wells' dad are in charge of the game and yeah…"

Now he was truly smiling down at her, the constellations of his freckles stretching around his wide grin. "Relax, Clarke. You sure you're not training too hard out there?"

Clarke couldn't help the snort that escaped. "Most definitely no. I'm pretty sure Ivan is ready to toss me to the wolves and be done with it."

"What do you mean?" The smile had slipped from his face and now his dark eyes bored into her.

She wasn't the biggest fan of sharing her deep dark secrets with Bellamy Blake, but wasn't like she wanted to talk to Finn and Wells just wouldn't get it. So she took a deep breath and let the jumbled words flow. "I'm supposed to want this more than anything, but I just don't feel it these days. Like regionals were the most amazing thing to ever happen to me and of course I want that moment back, to do that again, but I'm not sure that I can…. I feel like I don't want to skate most of the time, but that's not true. I do want to skate, just not the way Ivan wants me to. I've been popping all my jumps and I feel totally disconnected. I keep asking, why am I even doing this? But at the same time I can't imagine myself anywhere but the ice rink." She paused, biting her lower lip as she tried to make sense of her thoughts. "It's just so damn confusing… all of it."

Bellamy shifted to lean against the boards, his expression shuttered as he digested her words. His eyes darkened as he spoke, "What do you even want, Clarke? Do you want to go to nationals?"

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Did she want to kill herself day in and day out to skate at the premier venue for figure skating in the United States? Did she want that goal she'd set all those years ago when she'd convinced her parents to buy her a rink and make her dreams come true? Clarke wasn't sure. She wanted to be on the ice, she wanted to be part of that world, but she didn't know how to do that, not with these monumental expectations looming over her.

Bellamy shifted and her focus snapped back to him. His lips twisted in a wry smile. "I'm pretty sure the fact that it took you so long to even think about the answer means you probably don't know." He ran a hand through his hair and turned away, studying the empty rink. "It might even mean you don't want it."

Clarke could see the logic behind his words. Nevertheless, her stomach turned as she imagined their implication. She was the golden girl, her parents' hopes and dreams and all she wanted to do was quit. What type of person did that make her?

"It's okay, Clarke." He'd moved closer, his tall frame made all the more imposing by the hockey pads. "You don't have to know right now."

"But I do have to know."

"Eventually," he admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, the pain a welcome distraction from the battle waging within. Bellamy was right, and while he wasn't exactly a friend, he'd come the closest to sensing the truth that hid beneath her skin. She needed to decide what she wanted, even if it meant telling her parents that tens of thousands of dollars had been spent on nothing. Just the thought of trying to voice that was too painful to dwell on.

"Clarke!"

She broke away from Bellamy's stare to find Wells' striding toward them. "Wells… hi."

It was clear he found her greeting lackluster at best, but Wells was polite enough not to comment. He placed an arm around Bellamy's back, making him stiffen ever so slightly. "I see you and Blake are catching up."

"Yes, Captain obvious." Clarke smiled back, her lips a little too wide and her eyes not quite in it. "Ready to beat West for the 4th straight year?"

Bellamy stiffened even further, his expression clearing of all emotion. Clarke swallowed, heart sinking to her stomach. Of course he wasn't going to take kindly to that particular comment. He'd attended West and it was only by some minor miracle known only to Wells Jaha that he was skating for East Arkadia this year.

Sensing Bellamy's discomfort, Wells loosened his grip and stepped closer to Clarke. "It's not really East vs. West this year. We've opened it up beyond the high school teams and I think we're going to bring in a lot more for charity than we did before. Better to include the whole town and all that jazz."

"Right," she murmured, remembering hearing Wells and Finn talking in the weeks prior. "I'm sure you guys will play great."

"We will definitely kick all the ass, just like you," Wells replied, pulling the rink door open with a final wave.

She watched him skate off, expression wistful. If only skating were as simple as hopping on the ice like that. Bellamy shifted, eyes sliding toward Clarke. "You'll figure this out."

Then he was off, a blur of black and red against the ice as he raced to catch up with Wells. She watched them for several long moments, eyes tracing the dance of their blades upon the ice. Even out of practice, as he must be, Bellamy was good. His presence on the ice was natural, as if he belonged as much as she did.

Bellamy had assumed Thanksgiving without his mother would be as morose as it sounded. They'd never had the money to have a larger dinner, but they'd always celebrated the best they could, embracing the holiday as a chance to finally sit down as a family no matter what tribulations they faced. Now, though, Octavia had gotten the idea to host dinner for an assortment of their co-workers. She'd invited Miller, his boyfriend Bryan, Murphy and Emori and a new girl from the Snack Bar named Harper. Bellamy had said less than ten words to all of them except Miller and Murphy, but he figured if his sister wanted to do something festive, he wasn't going to stop her. The school hadn't called and her last report card hadn't been a row of F's. It hadn't exactly been college admissions material either, but he'd worry about that later.

"Do you remember what mom used to put in her stuffing, Bell?" Octavia stared at him from across the kitchen, bowl in hand.

"In her stuffing?" They'd never had a real turkey, but their mom had made sure they got some of the trimmings. She'd had several tricks to reduce cost and increase flavor, but Bellamy honestly couldn't remember any of them. Cooking had never been his thing to begin with.

"Ugh, you're no help," she huffed, turning back to a cookbook sprawled open on the counter.

"I'm sure whatever you make will taste good," he offered, unsure of what else to say.

"I don't want it to taste good, I want it to taste like mom's!" The sudden explosion from the other side of the kitchen caught him by surprise. The bowl she'd been holding was now rolling slowly to a stop in the doorway behind him. Octavia looked like a semi truck had hit her and suddenly Bellamy felt lost as ever. He'd hoped, prayed, that O was okay, but the tears racing down her cheeks and the clanging of her mixing spoon against the sink said otherwise.

He swallowed, keeping the dread creeping up his throat at bay. He could handle this, mom was gone and now Octavia was his responsibility. Bellamy took a small step closer. When she didn't react, he closed the distance between them, gently prying the spoon from her trembling fingers.

"It's going to be okay," he murmured, pulling her against him.

She immediately pulled away, face contorting in ways that sent icy waves down his spine. "No, Bell, it isn't! Mom is gone. Forever! She's never coming back to us!"

O was right of course. It wasn't okay, but then again, as far as he was concerned, it had never been okay. They'd been falling apart as long as they'd been a family and this was just another day in the misery that was his life. How he wished he could melt away, go be someone else, do something that didn't fill him with weary disgust. But that wasn't how life worked, so here he was, watching his sister breakdown in the middle of Thanksgiving, without a clue how to help.

O had turned away from him and now the contents of the pantry were flying past his head, landing with thuds upon the floor behind. Bellamy knew he should stop her, tell O that it would pass, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't fool himself into even trying. So he stood there and watched the kitchen explode around him. Only after the knives started flying did he move for cover and even then, only enough to not risk imminent bodily harm.

He could feel the moisture on his cheeks, hear the raggedness of his breath, but he stayed still. Eventually Octavia slumped to the ground in front of the pantry, her face of mess of red and devastation. He edged slowly toward her until he sank to the floor beside her.

"Well, shit."

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry again. Instead he tilted his head toward her, a hand tangling in his unruly hair. "Yeah."

"I thinking we're going to have to uninvite everyone."

"No shit." His head thudded against the wooden cabinets.

"Worst thanksgiving ever?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Unfortunately, no. You were too young to remember, but mom took us to Thanksgiving at one of her clients. It was the most humiliating night of my life and that includes that time Johnny Foster dumped the port-a-potty over with me in it."

Octavia winced. "That sounds…"

"As bad as you think," Bellamy sighed. "I didn't speak to her for a month. Not that I wouldn't take all that time back now."

"I know what you mean. I just wish we'd had more time with her, Bell." She captured one of his hands, her small fingers gripping with surprising strength. "I know mom wasn't the best and I know you dealt with that a lot more than I did, but I still miss her, Bell. I'll look across the street and think I see her before I remember I'll never see her again. It drives me crazy and it makes me so damn angry. What have we ever done to deserve this?"

That was a question Bellamy had stopped asking nearly a decade ago. There was no point thinking about what he and O deserved; they weren't going to get it. "Life doesn't make sense, O, and I can't tell you more than that."

She eyed him silently, her fingers twitching where they grasped him. Finally she turned her gaze down. "Do you think you'll ever stop hating mom?"

Bellamy swallowed. "I don't hate her, O, but I'm still working on forgiving her."

"You think she did it to herself, don't you?"

He sucked in a breath, turning to stare at O. They hadn't talked about how she'd died, not once. The doctors had told him the combination of antidepressants and alcohol had been fatal, but the obituary had left out the details of her death, only mentioning her ongoing fight against cancer. She'd been winning the cancer battle, but losing another. Octavia had been out when Bellamy had found her, forever asleep on her bed one afternoon. He hadn't dared to even open that rabbit hole, had never given himself the chance to consider it was suicide. Because if it was suicide that meant she'd deliberately left this mess in his hands and he wasn't sure he could ever forgive that, no matter how much he loved her and missed her.

"I don't know. I don't want to know." The words were barely a whisper. "I can't go there, O."

She nodded, her head falling against his shoulder. "Neither can I. I just want life to be better."

"It will be. I promise." He would make sure Octavia had all the opportunities their mother never did.

"I'll get the kitchen if you make those calls?"

He could see the desperation in her eyes, the urge not to be embarrassed yet again. "I'll just tell them our oven is broken. No one will think twice about it. I'm sure everyone had someplace else they could go."

"Thanks."

He pressed a kiss the crown of her head. "Anytime, O. Anytime."


	9. I, Octavia

"So my money's on Jaha this year," Finn commented as they found their seats at the top of the bleachers. The two teams were warming up on the ice below and Kane's warm voice was kindly directing spectators to try out the snack bar and silent auction in the lobby.

Clarke's lips twisted in a wry grin, "I think you mean your money's on Reyes. She's the one who's going to do the real damage."

Finn huffed next to her, eyes rolling to the rafters. "Yes, Raven was included in that statement. West side has no hope this year, especially with Blake opting for East."

"What do you mean?" Clarke's brows drew together as she stared down at Bellamy nimbly skating through warm up drills.

"Have you been living under a rock? No, don't answer that. I already know you have. Anyway, Wells and I were talking about Blake the other day and Wells mentioned that he used to be the star of the league back when he was in middle school. And then I thought about it and realized I totally remember him. He was the top scorer for the rec league team and they wanted him to join the travel team too, but I guess he didn't. I think Wells was even a little star struck back then. I mean, Blake is like four years older than us, so he was kicking ass while we were still learning to stand up on skates," Finn concluded.

Clarke stared at him, trying to process the information she'd just received. She'd known Wells remembered Bellamy, but she'd had no idea that he had been a hockey star, if only on the rec teams. "Do you know why he didn't keep playing?"

Finn raised an incredulous brow. "You seriously can't figure that out?"

She thought for a moment, "Money?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I know hockey's cheaper than figure skating, but those travel teams are damn expensive and there was no way he could make the high school team, even at West, without playing travel for a year."

"No wonder he hated me when we first met," she murmured, the accusation of his stare floating through her memory.

"No offence, Clarke, but you're rather easy to hate. Your parents bought a freaking ice rink for you, you've never been to actual school in over a decade and you exist pretty much outside the real world. If I didn't know you so well, I'm pretty sure I'd hate you too." He said the words with a mollifying smile, but it didn't help much.

Clarke sighed and crossed her arms, eyes locked on the scoreboard. "It isn't exactly like I asked for any of that. All I wanted to do was skate. My parents are the ones who turned it into some Olympic training exercise."

Finn was silent for a long moment. Finally he asked, voice soft, "You're not doing so well these days, are you?"

She knew he wasn't talking about the popped jumps or the shaky spins that had headlined her latest run-throughs. Bellamy's voice echoed in her ears. Did she even want to go to Nationals? Clarke was almost entirely sure that the answer to that question was a horrifying no, but she wasn't ready to say that aloud, especially not to Finn. "It's been rough. I don't think I'm dealing with the pressure very well."

"Join the club," Finn murmured. "There's a reason I tested up to Senior, and it wasn't just because I didn't want to be an ice dancer or a pairs skater. I was tired of competing and having people expect so much. I just wanted to skate for me and at least at Senior most of the guys are just fighting to be at Nationals and all the superstars already have a bye, so we don't have to compete against them. It's much more enjoyable, you should try it next year."

If she was still competing and managed to survive sectionals, maybe she would. Testing up to Senior, at least amongst the slightly competitive, was the equivalent of admitting defeat. No more dreams of international competitions and only a very slight chance of making it to Nationals. Indeed, the difficulty of the jumping passes of everyone in Junior surpassed that of most Senior women at regionals and sectionals. Clarke supposed it was a bit like putting yourself out to pasture.

"Welcome to the 10th annual Charity Thanksgiving Tournament!" Thelonious Jaha's booming voice washed over them, effectively silencing any more debate over her skating career prospects. "We are so excited to offer up all of the proceeds from this game to the Community Food Works, which will be donating more than 1,000 Thanksgiving meals to local families in need."

Jaha passed the microphone of to Kane. "We are happy to introduce the team captains. For West Arkadia we have Ilian Trishana!" The left side of the bleachers went wild, a chant of Ilian echoing off the walls. Clarke had never heard of him, but she didn't have her nose the ground when it came to hockey, especially from West Arkadia, which usually practiced at an outdoor rink across town.

When the chants finally died off Kane began again. "And now for East Arkadia, the team has voted to have two co-capatains, so I present to you Wells Jaha and Bellamy Blake!"

Clarke gaped at Wells and Bellamy skating to center ice. "Did you know about this?"

Finn shook his head, his brows lifted. "Raven forgot to mention this part. Then again I wasn't exactly listening to her at the diner last night. All she could talk about was hockey and I can only take so much of that."

"Hum," she murmured in agreement. She loved Raven, but her love of the stick and puck would never match her friend's.

Fifteen minutes later the first period was over and the score wasn't notable. Both teams had scored early, but after that it'd been a defensive battle that had Clarke gripping the bleachers with white knuckles. Bellamy had scored the lone goal for East and Ilian the goal for West. Raven was kicking ass and taking names, but the teams were evenly matched and the Grounders weren't about to go down without a fight. No actual fights had broken out yet, but the speed of the checks into the boards had Clarke sucking in her breath and praying for no broken bones.

The second period continued in much the same vein. Raven and one of the West players were the first to throw off gloves, leading to the penalty box for both. Wells and Bellamy continued to play as clean as they could with the West players aiming for blood. The tension in the stands had grown as the score remained stagnant. Usually a few scuffles in the parking lot was the worst that the game produced, but it was clear the left bleachers were a powder keg waiting to go off.

By the beginning of the third and final period, Clarke and Finn were on their feet as much to flee as to cheer. A particularly rowdy West teen had been thrown out by a severe looking Jaha, but the blood was still hot and Clarke wasn't sure how they were going to get out of this one unscathed. With four minutes left in the game Bellamy connected with Raven and her slap shot tore past the Gounders' goalie. East was finally winning and while Clarke could breath again, but the crowd's restlessness only grew. The final minutes stretched out like eons as Clarke waited, fingers twisting in front of her. With thirty seconds left, the Grounders captain gave up on any pretense of fair play. Ilian gathered as much speed as possible as he drew alongside Bellamy and then, suddenly, Bellamy was smashing against the boards, helmet skidding across the ice. Even from her vantage point, she could see the trickle of blood painting his face as he collapsed to the ice.

Clarke was opening the rink door before she even knew she'd moved from her perch atop the bleachers. She threw Ilian what she hoped was her most vicious ice princess stare as she slid to her knees beside Bellamy.

He squinted up at her, blood still running freely down his angled cheek. "Clarke?"

She swallowed, pushing back the wave of embarrassment. "Uh, yeah. How does your head feel?"

"Like I cracked it open on the boards."

HIs deadpan response brought a small smile to her lips. She held up three fingers. "How many?"

"Three," he groaned as he hauled himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily against the boards. "I'm fine, Clarke. Nothing a little ice can't fix."

"You're sure?"

Bellamy's response was cut off by a harrowing screech followed by the sound of a helmet crashing into the boards. Clarke swung away from Bellamy to find Octavia tackling Ilian. Her dark hair flew wildly about her as she drove her first into his nose, spilling crimson onto the ice. As she drew her fist back again, Clarke caught her expression. Her eyes gleamed primal rage and her lips were twisted in a perverted imitation of a smile.

Bellamy shot up to his feet, skates digging into the ice as threw his arms around her and pulled her away, her fists still hammering into the air. Octavia's face was splattered with blood and her eyes still burned with rage as Bellamy pinned her arms down and led her back toward Clarke, his dark eyes turbulent as he met Clarke's shocked stare.

Clarke took a steadying breath as Bellamy pressed Octavia to the boards beside her. She'd known her friend and sometimes student had been suspended for fighting, but she'd never imagined the viciousness with which Octavia attacked. Clarke was not a violent person by nature and just the impact of Bellamy against the board had been enough to send her heart into her throat. Watching Octavia attack Ilian had sent her guts tangling into an entirely different contortion. She couldn't meet the brunette's charged gaze, so she looked up at Bellamy instead, eyes pleading.

He wiped the blood from his face with one hand as he turned to his sister. His eyes were dark, full of a danger that sent Clarke's pulse racing. "O, you with me?" Octavia's fists clenched, but she nodded sharply. "Good. I need you to go with Clarke. Right now. We'll sort this out later."

Clarke's breath caught in her throat, panic rising in her chest. Bellamy turned toward her, the tension easing from his features. "You got this. Just get her out of here and I'll be there in a second. Take Collins with you if you want."

She nodded mutely, grasping Octavia's bloody arm as she led her toward the nearest door. Finn was hovering by the exit and she was eternally grateful when he extended a hand to clasp Octavia's shoulder and led them both out through the hushed whispers of the lobby and into the crisp night air.

Octavia pulled away as soon as the door clanged shut behind them. She ran a hand through her hair, steaks of blood smearing across the dark locks. "Fuck."

The word was soft, barely audible in the quiet night. Finn retreated to the doors, cocking his head at Clarke. She studied Octavia's small form, unable to reconcile it with the howling monster from the rink. Finally, she nodded at Finn. He slipped back inside, leaving them alone.

"I'm sorry," Octavia voice was still soft, but filled with such weary pain that Clarke couldn't help the step she took toward her. "I know that wasn't okay, but I saw him go down and he's the only thing I have left, Clarke. He's all I have."

"I know," Clarke murmured, stepping close enough to feel Octavia's heat.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," the brunette continued. "It's just that whenever I get scared this thing just rises up in me. I feel like I can't stop it, like it's just who I am."

Clarke didn't know what to say. Octavia had scared the shit out of her and she couldn't exactly downplay the incident. "I don't…"

"It's okay," Octavia continued, wiping at the tears that had begun to mingle with splattered blood. "I know it's not… it's not something that's okay or good. I'm sorry, Clarke. I didn't want you to see me like that… or this."

Bellamy was through the doors before Clarke could think of a reply. He'd taken his skates off, but the rest of his gear remained. The blood had clotted at his temple, but he looked as distraught as Clarke had ever seen him.

"What were you thinking, O?" The danger was back, seeping from his every pore.

"You went down…" Octavia couldn't finish, the flashing eyes of her brother clearly making her think twice.

"So you decided you'd throw yourself into the fray? O, you are all I've got. I can't have you throwing a punch at the first sign of trouble. You can't do this. You can't keep lashing out whenever something you don't like happens!" The veins throbbed at his temple as his deep voice echoed through the parking lot.

"I know that!" she exploded back as Clarke stepped away from the siblings. "How do you think I felt when you were bleeding on the ice!"

"I've played hockey for years, you never had this problem before!"

"Of course not," she snarled, "But mom wasn't dead then either!"

Bellamy recoiled, as if hit. Clarke stepped forward, her hand grasping his arm before she could think better of it. His wild eyes flew to meet hers. "Clarke," he choked. "God, I'm so sorry Clarke. You should go inside."

She stared back at him, taking in the pained set of his jaw, the disaster behind his eyes. Breath short, she nodded and retreated back to the lobby, the image of him seared into her memory.

Finn held out a hand and she took it gratefully as they moved through the rows of silent auction items. "They called the game, so I guess technically East won, but it's not like either side is celebrating."

Clarke glanced back at the arguing figures in the parking lot. "It must be horrible, having your personal business dragged up in public like that."

Finn nodded. "Yeah. Let's find Raven and make sure she's alright."

"Good idea," Clarke murmured as she let Finn lead her into the swirling crowd. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get Bellamy's wreaked expression out of her mind.

"You okay?"

Bellamy turned to eye Murphy with suspicion. Since when had John Murphy, Mr. Me and Only Me, ever given a shit about how he felt? Murphy rolled his eyes. "Come on, everyone saw the way your little sister flew off the fucking rails…"

"Yeah," Bellamy growled, stepping into Murphy. "My little sister."

Murphy's eyes flew skyward again. "Jeez, Blake, take a chill pill already. I was just asking if you two are all right. No harm meant."

Bellamy had his doubts about that, but he nodded and turned away. There was no point in letting Murphy rile him up. In any case, he was right, the entire town, or at least the parts of it with any power or influence, had seen his sister attempt to beat the West Arkadia Grounders captain senseless.

Ilian had only suffered a broken nose and a split lip, but the impact had been deeper than that. The school had called on Saturday morning indicating Octavia was to be put on disciplinary probation. One more documented incident inside or outside school and she was expelled. He had no idea what the hell they were doing working on a Saturday, but he couldn't say he was surprised.

Thankfully, Ilian hadn't pressed charges; if anything, the boy's expression had been one of curiosity as the police interrogated him. Bellamy hadn't had a clue what to make of that and he hadn't had the energy to contemplate it. By some miracle Kane and Jaha allowed Octavia to keep her snack bar job, but Kane's expression had been severe when he warned them there would be no more second chances.

Octavia had been morose ever since they'd dragged into their apartment late Friday night after police interrogations. She'd slept through most of Saturday, only emerging to grab a bag of potato chips. Bellamy was sure he should talk to her, but he had no idea what to say. They hadn't settled anything in the parking lot and now he just had heaps of words he wished he could take back. He loved her so damn much, but sometimes he just couldn't find the way to let her know. So instead of talking or being a mature grown man, he'd left Sunday morning to hide at the rink. His shift didn't start for another hour, but he just couldn't imagine sitting in the apartment staring at O's door any longer. How was it that he always messed up when it came to her, the only thing that truly mattered? He groaned and pulled a frustrated hand through his unruly curls. What was he even doing here?

The strains of Swan Lake, he couldn't believe he actually recognized that now, began to stream from the west rink. He moved on instinct, barely realizing where his feet were carrying him, until he was in a hockey box. Then his eyes were on her, captivated and beyond his control.

She was alone on the ice, only her dark silhouette whizzing across the brilliant white. Her blonde locks were pulled into a bun at the back of her neck that bounced at each dip and turn. His pulse hammered his veins as she flew past, Venus incarnate. Each vault into the air, each arch of her back stole his breath away.

He could hardly believe there had been a time when he hadn't known the magic she wove with her blades. She was doing things to him that he couldn't understand, that he didn't want. He needed to be there for Octavia, he needed to keep their lives together, but one look at her flying through the air and he couldn't remember his own name. He hated what she did to him, but he craved her, desired her with an urgency that unsettled him.

The music reverberated into silence and he realized she was staring back at him, eyes wide and chest heaving.

"Bellamy?"

He should go, go back home and pull Octavia out of her room and find a way to move forward. But he didn't move. She skated over to him, her blades a sharp hiss in the charged silence.

Her expression was tight. "What are you doing here?"

Bellamy couldn't exactly tell her he was hiding from Octavia. "I… I uh… I don't know. I just heard the music."

Clarke's eyes narrowed. "Your shift doesn't start 'til nine."

"You know my schedule?" The teasing grin he sent her way didn't quite reach his eyes, but at least he was back on familiar ground.

She huffed and slid her eyes toward him. "Not everything is about you… but yeah, I know your schedule. That way I know how to avoid Murphy."

Bellamy couldn't help the snort that escaped him. He couldn't exactly fault her there. "If only I had such a luxury."

"Make sure you get Miller to train you to be the next Zam driver. It may be your only escape from him."

"I'm pretty sure Murphy has his heart set on that job," Bellamy noted.

Clarke shrugged. "Well, he should prepare for serious disappointment. I'm a thousand percent sure that Kane is never going to let him anywhere near a large moving vehicle, let alone a Zamboni."

"I suppose that would probably be the safer route," he chuckled, feeling grounded for the first time since the disastrous game.

Clarke sighed and leaned against the board, her eyes glazing over as she stared across ice. "Maybe I can trade places with Murphy."

"I'm pretty sure he's not qualified to compete at your level." A frown pulled at his lips as his eyes traced the tension in her jaw. "When do you compete?"

Her teeth worried her full lips, driving his thoughts in distracting directions. He tried to focus on her eyes and the tumult hidden behind them.

"I have Short Program Tuesday morning and then Freeskate on Wednesday afternoon. I'll be back to skate in the holiday show next weekend." She sounded like she was reciting facts from a book, her voice monotonous and dull.

Bellamy shifted until he was leaning against the boards beside her. He could feel the heat of her burning into him, but he kept his breath steady and his mind focused. "You don't want to do any of this, do you?"

Clarke's head tilted until he could see the moisture gathering in her eyes. "I don't have a choice. I'm letting everyone down if I don't and I think I owe it to myself to just try."

"You're a beautiful skater, Clarke. Whatever you do, you should be proud of yourself." He didn't know what else to say. Articulating what she did to him, especially on the ice was impossible, so he just set a hand on her turtleneck clad shoulder. She didn't move away and he didn't dare do anything but breath.

They stayed like that a long moment before she finally turned to face him, his hand slipping down to rest upon her arm. "Thank you. I think I can do this, sectionals at least, and when I get back, I'll talk to my dad about… about whatever it is I actually want."

"Not your mom?" He could feel her tense beneath his soft grip.

"No." She shook her head swiftly. "She won't understand putting this much effort into skating and then turning my back on competition. She's always been the one with dreams of international competition. I think my dad's just glad I found something to keep me busy and away from boys."

A flush spread down her neck as she realized what she'd said. He smothered the smile that threatened burst through. He watched her closely as he trailed his hand further down her arm, noting the catch in her breath as his fingers skimmed the back of her bare hand.

Clarke abruptly broke away from him. "I should keep practicing."

He nodded, reality flooding back around him. "Yeah. Good luck at sectionals. I'm sure you'll be fine." He paused, "And Clarke? Thank you for what you did on Friday. I really appreciate it."

She nodded, tension easing from her frame. "No worries. I'm happy to help."

"Thank you all the same."

"Be well, Bellamy Blake," she murmured, eyes locked with his for an infinite moment.

He inclined his head and then she was gone again, a blur of possibility against the frozen surface. Bellamy inhaled deeply, centering himself and wiping her from his mind. He had a job to do and a sister to hold together. He didn't have time for Clarke Griffin and the way she tangled him into unrecognizable knots.


	10. Show Time

The plane flight to Boston was as dull as possible, leaving Clarke mired in the web of doubt that had begun to inundate her every thought. Her last practice had left Ivan groaning and Finn desperately trying to catch her eye. She'd popped nearly every jump in the long and her short had been back to its previous automaton glory. She felt spent and now, watching the clouds soar past, she wished she could be back home.

Her mother shifted beside her, glasses on over narrowed eyes as she perused one of her endless medical journals. "Everything all right, honey?"

Clarke managed a mechanical nod and her mother's attention returned to her reading material. Clarke let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Regardless of what she wanted, in less than 36 hours she was going to be center ice. She could either take it lying down or man up.

 _You can do this_. His voice, once foreign, was a constant now. Whenever the doubt became too much, she would remember his warm brown eyes and sincerity of his voice. She might not trust herself, but somewhere along she had started trusting Bellamy Blake.

Clarke could hardly see Ivan's face through the torrent of tears that ran down her cheeks. She groped blindly for her guards, following instinct alone as she slipped them over her blades. The applause was still echoing through the arena and even though it was only sectionals, the stands had been filled to the brim. Perhaps it was because an Olympic year brought a renewed interest in figure skating or maybe skating was really a much bigger audience pull in Boston than the Hudson Valley. Whatever it was, it kept her trailing Ivan toward the designated waiting area.

She tried to wipe at her tears, but more instantly followed. Ivan's grip around her shoulders was steady as he lowered them both to the bench. "I'm so proud of you, Clarke. I haven't seen you skate that well in so long!"

She stared blearily at him. "I didn't think I could do it."

"I knew you could," he replied, "It was just a matter of convincing you. How does it feel to be going to nationals?"

"Nationals?"

He laughed, his eyes filled with more mirth than Clarke could remember seeing. "Yes, Nationals. You just had the best free skate of the entire afternoon, Clarke. There's no way you're lower than fourth here."

The beat of her heart was slowly returning to a steady pace. She nodded, not prepared to think beyond the moment yet. She'd had an average short program, her jumps solid, but artistic flare notably absent. Going in to the long program all she'd been able to think about were the stakes. What if she didn't make it? What if she did? How could she justify everything to her parents if she couldn't even make it to nationals this year? Did she even want to keep competing?

Clarke had been an absolute head case just three hours before the freeskate and not even Ivan's stern pep talk had pulled her out of it. She'd been in a downward spiral that looked like it was gaining momentum when she'd gotten the text. It hadn't been a special moment and she couldn't remember everything she'd been doing, but one moment she'd been buried beneath miles of dirt and the next she was free, soaring across the ice.

 _Just be you. And you are the most beautiful thing on the ice._ He hadn't added any banal phrases about good luck. Instead he'd said the one thing she could believe. She knew herself on the ice; she knew those moments of perfection in the fog before even the staff arrived at the rink. He'd merely reminded her of why she skated. It wasn't to make it to Nationals, or to be better than anyone else, it was to be free. So she'd skated with her heart on her sleeve and freedom in her veins.

The whole skate had been a blur, her jumps mere afterthoughts to the joy she'd felt. She hadn't tried this time; she'd just let it flow over her. For once she hadn't worried about where her hand was during the footwork or what expression was on her face as her spiral soared past the judges. In that freedom she'd found a joy that she still couldn't comprehend.

Ivan was shaking her shoulders, a broad grin on his face as the event announcer read off her score. "… giving her a total score of 165.45, putting her in 3rd place. This concludes the junior ladies free skate event."

"I told you!" His tone merrier than Clarke could ever remember it being in the decade he'd worked with her. "On to Nationals now."

Clarke licked her lips, the salt of her tears stinging her tongue. "I made it?"

"You made it." He motioned toward the arena lobby. "I'm sure your mother would love to celebrate with you!"

She nodded, slipping on her club jacket and following blindly behind him. She still couldn't quite breathe normally and her fingers were tingling in the strangest of ways.

"Clarke!" Her mother descended on her like a vulture upon its prey. "Oh, Clarke." Her mother's grip was bruising on her biceps and her voice held an edge of hysteria that Clarke had never heard before.

"Mom?"

"I'm so sorry, Clarke." Now her mother was crying in earnest, her small frame clinging to Clarke for support. She glanced over at Ivan, but he looked as bewildered as she felt.

"Mom, let's go sit down over here," Clarke suggested, indicating an empty bench before a set of hockey lockers. Her mother followed limply along, her eyes haunted as they skittered across Clarke's features. "Mom, you're scaring me."

Her mother only shook her head, tears falling harder than before. Clarke glanced around, searching for her father. Her mother had flown out with her on Monday, but her dad had joined them in Boston the night before. A feeling of dread swept down her spine. "Mom, where is dad?

Her mother's lips worked silently for a long moment before a rasping whisper pierced the air between them. "He was running late from a meeting he'd scheduled before the long. You know how bad the roads have gotten. They told me he skidded across the intersection, that his breaks had no hope of stopping him. The other car, an SUV skidded too. It hit your dad's rental car and it flipped into a ravine."

There as only silence. No sound of breath or tears or voices. Only silence. The trembling in her fingers had changed tenor and she could hardly remember how to breathe. "Is he?" She didn't even know what she was asking, didn't want to know the answer.

"He was pronounced dead after he got to the hospital." Her mother's voice was tattered in ways Clarke had never imagined possible.

"When?"

"Oh, honey." Her mother looked away, the pain flashing through her eyes all Clarke needed to see.

"Dad died while I was on the ice?" She already knew the answer and yet she couldn't make it fit. It couldn't be real. The joy of her skate and jarring pain of his loss had no business sharing the same space.

The tears drowned out her mother's quiet whispers, but Clarke could make out the shape of her lips repeating "I'm so sorry" over and over again. She was dazed, lost in a sea of sensation that she wanted no part of.

Ivan moved closed to them now that he understood what had happened. His eyes were so full of pity they made Clarke's skin crawl. She didn't want pity or sympathy or anything. She wanted the world to stop and rewind and fix this disaster. She would easily give up her freeskate if it meant seeing her father even one last time. But she was stuck with the ghost of her joy amid the devastation of her soul. She could still feel the warmth of his last embrace, see the proud twist of his lips as he kissed her good luck only hours ago. Her eyes drifted toward the stairs, some small parting of her still firmly believing he would be walking down at any moment. She couldn't accept this, and yet the pain was searing through, telling her the truth in ways she could not deny.

"Let's get your skates off," Ivan murmured as he began to work on her laces. "I'll make some calls and help you both as best I can."

Clarke nodded, grateful that he was there, pity or no. One boot at a time. One step at a time. That was all she had left.

Bellamy was working the afternoon shift, which included about a million kids and their parents attempting to find Christmas cheer by crashing into boards and accidently skating over each other's hands. While the injuries were rarely bad, they were common enough that Kane had taken to having the skate guards, the lucky high school kids earning an extra buck by telling other kids not to be stupid, carry a full arsenal of bandaids on them at all times.

The latest injury was a toddler who had opted to display his frustration by kicking his mother's shin, while fully equipped with toepicks. The whole thing was a bit comedic, but Bellamy knew better than to laugh. Instead he'd helped get the skates off the kicking machine and set the mother up with a nice pile of bandages. He exchanged an eye roll with Murphy as he headed back to the front office to update Kane on the situation.

Kane's door was open, so Bellamy strode through, ready to regale him with the latest dumb injury story, but Kane's expression stopped him in his tracks. The man's face was the picture of shock, his eyes blown wide with disbelief and something more wretched. Bellamy's pulse instantly spiked as he strained to hear the voice on the other end of the line. He could make out Ivan's heavy accent, but not the individual words.

Kane made no move to acknowledge Bellamy's entrance, but his clear distress held Bellamy in place. "How are they doing?"

Ivan's accented English rattled again as Kane sharply inhaled. "He died while she was on the ice?"

Kane's question had Bellamy's mind going into overdrive. The only person that could have been on the ice was Clarke Griffin. He knew her long program had happened about an hour ago. Murphy had been obsessively checking IceNetwork on his phone until her score had finally gone up, giving her a solid third place finish and a pass to Nationals. Bellamy had texted her a congratulations, but hadn't heard anything back. He'd assumed she was busy celebrating.

Kane exchanged a few more quiet words with Ivan before putting the phone back in its cradle. He glanced up at Bellamy, anguish in his eyes. "Jake Griffin is dead. He was in a car accident on the way to the arena in Boston when he skidded through an intersection. They think the weather probably caused the skid. Anyway, he died at the hospital at the same time Clarke was on the ice. Abby didn't want to tell her until afterward."

Bellamy was out of the office, fingers navigating across the screen of his phone before Kane was even done speaking. The dull ring of the phone repeated five times before he heard her voice.

"Bellamy?"

"It's me. I just heard from Kane. I'm so sorry."

"I don't even know what to think right now." She sounded small, barely a murmur above the static of the line.

He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but he knew that was a lie and he couldn't lie, not to her, not now. "That's okay. When are you coming back?"

He could hear her speaking with Ivan in the background before she came back on the line. "Tonight. We'd had a flight schedule tomorrow, but Ivan's dealing with the mortuary arrangements, so mom and I can fly back tonight."

"I'll come pick you up," he promised, helpless to buffer her against the storm.

"Thanks, but Kane will be there and I think my mom needs him more than anything right now. I'll call you when I'm back though."

He took a controlled breath. Of course Kane was picking them up. She didn't need him, they weren't even that good of friends and yet his heart was breaking for her. He swallowed thickly. "Uh, yeah, please do that."

"I'll be okay, Bellamy."

And then she was gone. He wanted to defy the laws of physics and teleport to her side, so he could shield her from as much of the pain as possible. He knew it was a stupid urge, one borne of want more than logic, but she'd crept under his skin and now he was powerless as she suffered.

Kane was leaning against his office door, defeated. Bellamy realized he'd probably heard the entire conversation, but didn't have the energy to care. Kane put a firm arm on Bellamy's shoulder as he stepped closer.

"I'll take care of them, don't worry."

With nothing else to do, Bellamy nodded back, feeling as hollow as he had in the moments after he'd found his mother's body.


	11. Figures in the Dark

Bellamy didn't see Clarke for the rest of the year. The chill December days began to resemble his mood, each day more morose than the last. After Kane picked up the Griffin women from the airport in Westchester, he dropped them off at the family home on the outskirts of Hyde Park. Clarke hadn't called Bellamy back and other than the occasional visit by Kane, neither of the women had interacted with the world. A funeral date was set for mid-January, but that was it.

He'd tried texting her and when he'd gotten no response, he'd driven to her house and watched from the end of the long driveway as she and her mother prepared dinner in their bright kitchen. Satisfied with knowing Clarke was alive, he'd put his energy into helping Octavia through their first Christmas without their mother and getting all the extra hours that he could at the rink while community college was on break. He'd barely paid attention to his grades at the end of the semester and he knew he needed to shape up if his dream of being a history teacher was ever going to come to fruition.

Clarke Griffin was her own woman and no matter how much he wanted to hold her in his arms and take away her pain, he knew when to stop pushing. The connection they'd shared in those few months had been real and it was up to her to take the next step.

New Year Eve had never been a holiday Bellamy enjoyed much, so he was perfectly content to be on closing duty at the rink. The crowds of holiday skaters had dispersed, but the mess they left in their wake remained. Murphy had begged off to go spend his evening with his gang banger girlfriend, which left Bellamy alone to clean the piles of candy cane wrappers and spilled hot chocolate. Maybe he would have been bitter about it even a month ago, but now he found a calm in the monotonous scrubbing. There was no drama in mopping a rubber floor, only the satisfaction of seeing it clean.

He started with the locker rooms and the lobby, the areas requiring the most attention, before moving on to the rinks. The west rink was silent, it's stands eerie in the light from the lobby. He hadn't bothered to turn on the main light banks. Their glare was a little too much and he could see decently enough. Not many of the kids or their families had made it into the stands, which made the job significantly easier.

West rink done, he headed through the tunnel beneath the stands to the east rink. As he swung the door open, he stopped short. The stereo system was on and the soft strains of Swan Lake floated ethereally through the vacant rink. Frowning, he moved closer to the ice, trying to identify the source of the music. No one else was allowed in at this hour and he was fairly certain Murphy wouldn't have left Swan Lake playing on repeat.

At first all he saw were shadows, the distorted shapes of the lobby benches and tables, but then another shadow emerged from the darkness. Dressed entirely in black except the shock of blonde hair flying behind her was Clarke. He froze in place, unwilling to upset the equilibrium and reveal his presence.

She was different. Her strokes held more anger, her jumps higher and stronger. He knew she hadn't been on the ice since that fateful December day when her entire life had melted down around her, but she skated like she'd never missed a beat. She ran through her short program, the one so well weaved to Swan Lake, over and over again, as if she was expecting something new to emerge if only she skated hard enough. She must have been exhausted, but she didn't slow, didn't pause in her dance of the dying swan.

It might have been minutes, or maybe hours, time had entirely ceased to have meaning, before she finally slowed, her ragged breath echoing through the rink. She dropped to her knees at center ice, eyes staring plaintively into the distance.

He couldn't help the sudden movement of his body, didn't even have time to think before shuffled across the ice and knelt beside her. Her eyes wavered, unfocussed for a long moment, before they snapped into focus upon his face.

"Bellamy."

It wasn't a question and suddenly he had no idea what he was doing. They hadn't spoken since her dad died and all those things that had held them together, that had made her seem more familiar than strange suddenly ceased to matter. He hardly knew her. He realized with a sickening pang that he had no right to invade her space like this. He wasn't Wells or Raven or even Finn. He was the janitor.

Muscles tensing, he rose to his feet. "Sorry."

She shook her head, rising to meet him. "You don't have to go."

He swallowed thickly. "Yeah, I do."

"I don't want you to."

Her words had his heart tying itself in knots and his brain short-circuiting. "You never called."

"I had no idea what to say." She shrugged. "I still don't."

He knew that feeling at least. "I'm not sure you ever do. You just starting talking and go from there. There's no one thing you're supposed to feel or say."

Her jaw worked silently for a long moment. "Am I supposed to feel this angry?"

"There's no rule book for how you're supposed to feel," he countered, moving to stand in front of him. With her skates on, they were nearly the same height and her blazing blue eyes instantly captured his.

"I hate that he died at the moment I figured out how much I love skating. I hate that I hate that program because he died. I actually love it and now I have to hate it." Her eyes pulled him and left him breathless, but her words cut deeper, snaking into his soul.

"Have you skated it?" That certainly explained why she'd been trying the Swan Lake program over and over again. It, at least, was not a symbol of death to her.

Fear skated across her face as she shook her head. "No."

He studied her for a long moment. "Is it still on your phone, the music?" She nodded, her expression uncertain. "Then skate it now."

Clarke looked for all the world like she was going to refuse, but after an infinite moment of her eyes searching his, she nodded. He followed her to the music box, silently watching as she switched songs on her phone and skated to her starting position. His finger hovered over the play button, waiting for her stillness. She slowly settled into her opening pose, her body melting into position like molten chocolate. Bellamy took a deep breath, never taking his eyes away from her, as he pressed play.

She sprung into action, the drum beats channeling her aggression into a swift and powerful dance. Her dark figure sailed across the ice at breakneck speed, her fury pouring out and tearing him apart. He could feel how broken she was, how lost she was. She was falling to pieces on the ice in front of him and he could do nothing but fall with her. Clarke's footwork lacked the clarity it had in her usual performances, but where it lacked sharpness it gained feeling. She was a black cloud of grief incarnate. He could see his pain in hers, his loss in hers.

The last drum beat shook the rink, but she stood tall now. Her shoulders shook, but her eyes were clear as they bored into Bellamy's. He moved toward her, Odysseus drawn to his Siren. Up close, he could see the sweat coating her skin, feel the heat she radiated as she panted before him. Her lips were parted, her breath ghosting across them as she gulped down oxygen.

Clarke's eyes swept across his face, pausing at this lips before returning to his eyes. Her gaze was haunted, but he could hardly resist her spell. Bellamy could feel every shift of her body, every hitch of her breath as he leaned toward her. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was screaming for him to stop, but he no longer cared. He needed to taste her, to taste her grief and soothe it with his own. She was blazing hot against his chilled hands as they cupped her face, his eyes never leaving hers.

Then suddenly she was against him, her mouth opening against his, demanding all that he could give. A moan cut the silence and it took him a moment to realize the strangled sound had come from his lips. He could feel her everywhere, every inch of her heat pressing against him. Kissing her was everything he'd imagined and yet something else entirely. She was soft and hard, submissive and strong. Her moans were bits of heaven sent to him on Earth. He couldn't get enough of her, of the slide of her tongue against his own, the pull of her teeth upon his bottom lip, the grip of her hands upon his waist, The tangle of her fingers in his hair.

For a long while, she was everything and then she pulled away, brilliant blue eyes blown wide. Her hand flew to her lips, as if just realizing what had happened.

"It doesn't have to mean…" Bellamy couldn't bring himself to finish, to lie.

She shook her head fiercely. "No, it means something."

His tensed muscles loosened as her words sunk in. "But now isn't the right time."

The tension holding Clarke eased, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes were full of sorrow as she met his stare. "Not now, but not so long either. I think I need to figure out some things about me first."

Bellamy nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I get that. You know you don't have to go to Nationals if you don't want."

Clarke nodded, "I know, but I think I'll go this year for him and then go from there."

"If that's what you want."

"It is." She moved closer to him, her intensity sending shivers on his spine. "I want to do this right now, but I don't want to keep doing it. I'm going to apply for college this spring and then…" a wry smile spread across her lips. "And then, you and I, Bellamy Blake, are going to have a lot to talk about."

He couldn't help but smile back. "Is that so, Princess?"

Clarke eyes danced impishly as she leaned forward until it took all his energy not to grab her again and kiss every inch of her. She let her lips ghost over his for an infinite moment before backing away. "Yes."

She spun on her skates and took off across the rink. He merely watched her, eyes drinking in every edge and pose with a hunger he'd never felt. He knew they needed time, both of them, but when their moment came, was it going to be epic. Until then, he'd let her skate circles around him. He smiled as he watched her vault through the air and land with a satisfying whoosh, blade cutting deeply into the ice.


End file.
